


You Always Had It In You

by hit_the_books



Series: No More Secrets [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betaed, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retelling of Episode s11e17, Retelling of Episode s11e21, Sam Has Powers, Season/Series 11, Self-Loathing, Sibling Incest, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Vampires, Werewolves, Whump, Wincest Big Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 50,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: After Dean and Sam handle the Soul Eater in Grand Rapids, Sam drags them straight onto a vampire hunt that is anything but straightforward. Bodies begin to pile up and Dean can't help feeling that Sam is hiding something from him. But when Sam eventually comes clean, the truths he reveals will rock Dean's world to its very core.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [stormbrite](http://stormbrite.tumblr.com/) for the art in this fic C: You can find the original pics on [LJ here](http://stormbrite.livejournal.com/24040.html) and [AO3 here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8236300).
> 
> Thank you so much to [Zeryx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeryx) and [majesticduxk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/majestic_duck) for being my beta readers on this fic.
> 
> This is my first time writing a big bang fic for the [Wincest Big Bang](http://wincestbigbang.livejournal.com/). It's also the longest Wincest fic I've written so far. Over half of it was written during CampNaNoWriMo earlier this year and I just wanna say thanks to [WetSammyWinchester](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wetsammywinchester) for inviting me to the cabin they'd joined for the month. Being a part of that cabin really helped me get the story going.
> 
>  **In the tags** I warn for canon typical violence as they guys do work several cases in this fic, and also warn for temporary character death and suicide attempt on account of there being a retelling of events from the season 11 episode "Red Meat".
> 
> Certain characters have been omitted from character tags for fic spoiler reasons.

Feet pounding asphalt. Cool early morning air ruffling his hair, Sam tries to figure out what the hell he’s going to tell Dean. What could he possibly say about the cracked clock between their two beds? Or the pulverized glass on the other side of the room? Or the crater where the clock had smashed into a wall.

Dean had startled awake, gun in hand, but Sam had just shrugged the whole thing off as him falling out of his bed. His brother had bought the excuse of too many whiskeys the night before.

_He’ll wanna know how the clock ended up there_. Sam’s not even sure why he bothered heading out on his morning run—it’s not managing to clear his head.

Headlights close in on Sam’s right and he steps to the side of the road, out of the way of an oncoming car. Sam takes a moment to stretch and breathe. Stretch and breathe. The chill predawn Michigan air cooling his sweat, the cold of his skin joining the sickening icy feeling in his stomach. Nothing feels right. Looks right. There’s too many stars in the sky and Sam just wants to fall into it. Be lost and never have to answer Dean’s questions.

_I’m going to have to lie to Dean. I can’t tell him I was having a nightmare about when he chased me through the bunker with a hammer_. There’s no way he’s going to tell Dean that he’d had a nightmare so bad, he’d thrashed out with his “non-existent”— _as far as Dean is concerned_ —psychic powers and sent a clock flying into a wall.

_No point in worrying Dean_ , Sam thinks as he finishes stretching and returns to his run. _This Cas, Lucifer and Amara crap is enough right now, he doesn’t need to be worrying about me too_. Picking up speed, Sam tries to get his heart rate up faster, to feel something other than the icy nausea that’s been niggling at him for over an hour.

Dean’s eyes in the dream had been their brilliant green, lips poised in that confident sneer he’d had back in the Bunker as Sam held Ruby’s knife against his throat. Just standing there and taunting Sam to do it.

“Well … Look at you. Do it. It’s all you,” Dean had taunted.

But in Sam’s dream it hadn’t been Castiel who had stepped in behind Dean and overpowered him. Instead Sam had sent Dean flying with hardly a thought, pinned him up against a wall and continued the treatment. He’d held his squirming, screaming, cursing brother against the wall with nothing more than with the power of his mind. And all he could think was why hadn’t he done this sooner? This way, he could hold Dean there and show him what he’d wanted for so long. Press their lips together and not have Dean fight back. Not that it would really have been Dean.

It wasn’t a complete fantasy, the dream he’d had. _I could have done that_ , Sam thinks to himself, _could have done that and proven that once a freak: always a freak_.

The motel’s coming back into view, the “No Vacancies” sign burning through the gloom. No one else is awake and moving around outside the single story rooms. Sam has found no peace. Each step towards their room just makes Sam want to turn around and head off again. He reaches the parking lot and starts doing his post run stretches. He’ll finish stretching and then go into their room and shower. But he’s going to wait for Dean’s questions. Sam isn’t going to explain anything unless asked, because just offering up an explanation unprompted will just pique Dean’s curiosity.

Curiosity that will soon to turn fear, and Sam wants to play at being normal for as long as he can. Wants to pretend that there was nothing more he could have done when Lucifer revealed his hand, revealed what Castiel had allowed. Guilt slowing his limbs, Sam comes to a rest in front of the motel room door.

_He doesn’t need to know_ , Sam thinks as he grasps the door handle.

***

Recognizing Sam’s hesitant footsteps, Dean just grunts in his half sleep as Sam returns to their room. He’s glad Sam’s back. It’s not like he starts getting anxious whenever Sam’s away from him for more than thirty minutes, but it’s hard to kick old habits. Shake the feeling that he has to look out for Sammy no matter what.

Dean doesn’t say anything as he dozes in bed. Once he hears the shower going, he finally goes to look at the time on the clock between their beds and—

_What the hell?_ Dean looks at the cracked clock face and fractures on its sturdy blue plastic shell. Vaguely, he remembers Sam falling out of bed during the night. But as Dean surveys the rest of the room and sees the gaping hole in the wall: he knows that Sam didn’t just happen to fall out of bed.

Eyeing the closed bathroom door, Dean tries to figure out what happened last night. He didn’t think he’d drunk that much, but if he hadn’t registered what had really gone down… _I should lay off the hooch…_

Pulling off the bed covers, Dean scratches under his t-shirt, wincing as he catches a bruise, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He hadn’t slept easy after Sam had woken him up. Instead he’d drifted back down into a fresh nightmare: Sam dead at his feet, like he’d seen in the Soul Eater’s nest in Grand Rapids. Powerless to do anything.

Shaking his head, Dean tries to push back that nightmare and figure out what had actually occurred during the night. He’s pretty sure he hadn’t made Sam angry enough to start trashing motel rooms. _So what the hell happened, Sam?_ Dean pads over to the hole in the wall. They’ve left motel rooms in worse states, but he decides to shift a trash can in front of the hole and hope no one notices what’s happened.

Soon as they are ready, they’ll be heading back to the Bunker and figuring out their next case, unless Sam has found one for them to jump onto. _Not like we know anything new about_ —Dean can’t quite bring himself to think their names. Deciding that he needs some air, Dean throws on some jeans, a plaid shirt and his boots. _Breakfast_.

Writing a note on a pad for Sam, Dean leaves and heads to the diner down the street.

***

Towel around his waist, fresh bruises visible across his torso and shoulders, Sam looks into the empty room and spots the note from Dean. He sees the moved trash can. _Dean saw_ , Sam thinks somberly and begins to get dressed. _I’m not telling him what happened. I can’t tell him. He’ll—_

Sam sees flashes of his brother’s reactions whenever Sam used his dark talents previously. The horror and fear. Disgust. Pain, like a hammer smashing into his temple, flares and Sam sees Dean, his Dean now, staring back at him. Sadness in his eyes, cheeks wet—and then the sight is gone and Sam’s gasping for breath, kneeling on the floor.

The door to the room opens. “Yo, Sammy, gotcha—”

Distantly, Sam hears a paper bag drop and then he feels Dean’s hands on him. Calloused fingers press against his forehead and a voice is asking him questions. Sam’s not even aware that his towel is gone. Strong hands grip him and try to get him to stand. He ends up on his bed and shivers, head pounding.

“Sam, you with me? Christ, say something!” Dean worries he hit Sam too hard back at the Soul Eater’s house. _If he’s got a concuss—_

“I—I’m fine,” Sam answers lamely.

“Right, ‘cause this sure looks like fine.” Picking up a blanket, Dean wraps it around Sam’s bare shoulders, forcing himself not to look at his brother’s nakedness.

Standing there while Sam winces in pain, Dean gets a sinking feeling in his stomach as he sees Sam’s eyes blinking rapidly. _There’s no way this is happening again. No way this nightmare is here again._

“Our… fight, yesterday, musta taken more out of me than… I realized at first.” Sam tries to rise up from the bed, but Dean gently pushes him back down again. He looks into Sam’s eyes a moment, meeting no resistance. Dean finds no sign of concussion.

“You can stay there and get dressed. And then you’re eating breakfast. No arguments,” Dean says in an older brother voice that Sam’s familiar with, he just hasn’t heard it in a long time.

Dean gives Sam fresh clothes, and he gets dressed while Dean puts their breakfast out on the table. It’s silent in the room bar their movement. Sam’s not sure what to say, worried speaking now will lead to questions he still can’t answer, so he keeps quiet as he dresses. He frowns, as yesterday’s bruises bite past the dull ache now left in his head, the endorphins from his run finally wearing off.

Sitting down at the table, Dean glances over to see how Sam is doing. As his brother pulls on a red and black plaid shirt, Dean really looks at Sam. He spots the thinness to his cheeks that wasn’t there a year ago. Notes the bags under his eyes. Grimacing, Dean looks away before Sam can catch him watching. Despite all that big talk once the Darkness was unleashed, about saving people again, it’s becoming clear to Dean that maybe Sam isn’t doing the same for himself.

_He’s not been the same since… Cas_. Dean opens up his order of potato hash, mushrooms, scrambled eggs and sausage, pulls out a fork and begins to tuck in.

A seat creaks opposite him and Sam sits down, reaching for the granola, fruit and yoghurt Dean picked up for him. If Sam smiles at the fact that he’s not looking at styrofoam stuffed with grease, it’s because he really appreciates that Dean found him something that isn’t a portable heart attack.

“Thanks,” Sam says, pushing his spoon into the granola and starting to mix it with the fruit and yoghurt.

Dean places a cup of diner coffee beside Sam. “Yeah, well… what happened to the clock and to the wall?”

_Time for some half-truths_ , Sam thinks bitterly as he holds his spoon in his hand. “I had a nightmare and it was a good thing no one was in bed with me.”

Dean pokes at some egg. “I thought I heard something. Do you… remember what it was about?”

_You were trying to murder me, so I threw you against a wall without laying a finger on you._ “Just... back at _that_ house again. Watching you be jerked around by the Soul Eater.”

If Dean can tell Sam’s lying he doesn’t let on. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” Sam stuffs his mouth with granola and chews. Chancing a glance over at the wall, Sam silently doubletakes, trying to remember if the clock had gone through closer to the bathroom door or further away as it looks now. But he can’t remember and thinking nothing more of it, swallows his granola.

Dean nods and takes a bite of sausage. A considering look settles on his features and Sam wonders what his brother might be thinking about.

Swallowing, Dean picks up his coffee and waves the cup towards Sam. “So, finish this and head back?”

_Head back to the Bunker_ , Sam plasters on a fake smile. The one awkward conversation he thought he’d be having this morning is over. But if there’s one place he doesn’t want to be right now, it’s back in the Bunker. The only stationary home that wasn’t temporary, that he’d ever really known, wasn’t exactly feeling safe anymore. _Not since Lucifer_. And his control has been slipping since that encounter.

“No, I, uh, think I found us a case in Storm Lake, Iowa.”

Dean takes a sip of coffee. “What case?”

Setting his spoon down, Sam gets up and heads over to his satchel, pulling out his tablet. He takes it out of standby and finds the police files he’d been looking at before falling asleep the night before. Sam passes the tablet to Dean and sits back down, ignoring his granola.

“The slayings… Victims’ bodies staged at a waterpark… Indeterminate puncture marks on the inner thigh…” Dean reads to himself and looks up at Sam. “What, you think this is Twilight county?”

“Right.” Sam hopes Dean won’t read too much into the surrounding story.

“Says here the police think it’s a serial killer.” There’s no ignoring the skeptical look Dean throws Sam’s way. “And how did we even get these files?”

“Jody forwarded them from a concerned friend. Thought it might be a case.. It’s on the way back. We can check it out. If it’s nothing, we’ll get back on the road.” _Please, can we not go back_.

“Fine, we’ll take a look. But if this is a case for the real Feds then we’re out of there before anyone can remember our prime time debuts.”

Dean finishes his breakfast and goes to dump the takeout box in the trash. He begins to pack up his things, checking Sam out of the corner of his eyes, seeing how he hardly touched the granola he picked up for him. _Damnit Sam, what’s really going on?_ Dean pulls out some fresh clothes and then heads for the bathroom to have his shower.

Giving Sam the chance to look into this case is fine by Dean, but he can’t ignore what he’s seeing now. Worse still, he wonders if there were earlier signs and he just missed them. Faint memories of half-finished meals pile into his thoughts as he gets into the shower and Dean vows to keep a closer eye on Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the Bunker is still and quiet. Inside Sam’s room, Dean and Sam are sat side by side as they watch a film on Sam’s new flatscreen TV. It’s the first Tom Cruise _Mission Impossible_ film. It’s a compromise, Dean having insisted on an action film and Sam saying it had to have at least some level of intelligence to it.

Delving his hand into the bowl of popcorn between them, Sam almost jumps when he brushes against Dean’s fingers in there. Turning to look at his brother, Sam sees a blush rising on Dean’s cheeks. Removing his hand from the bowl, Sam twists a little on the bed so he’s facing Dean better.

“Sorry, I didn’t meant to…” Sam lamely apologizes.

“Hey it’s, um, my bad,” Dean tries and gives Sam a nervous smile that sets Sam’s heart racing and is it just him or are they slowly leaning towards each other?

A huge fish tank explodes on the screen, but neither Sam nor Dean notice. Looking into each other’s eyes, Sam closes the distance and gently presses his lips against Dean’s. For a moment Dean is frozen against him and then he’s kissing back, restrained and questioning. Sam replies by pressing harder and opening Dean’s mouth, licking his way inside and teasing his brother’s tongue. They moan into each other’s mouths and the popcorn bowl gets dangerously close to being spilled.

Unsure how much time passes, Sam and Dean gasp for breath as they finally break apart. The tortured looks and gentle touches of the past few months finally converted into something Sam can understand.

Sam studies Dean’s face and is glad to find no sign of fear there, just bold acceptance.

“Dean, I—we… is this okay?”

“Sam, you gonna wake up?” Dean asks.

There’s the honk of a truck horn and Sam feels like he’s being jostled around.

“C’mon, we need to grab some lunch.”

Dean disappears and Sam blinks his eyes open as afternoon light streams into the Impala. Sitting up properly, Sam sees the parking lot Dean’s pulling into. Sam tries to discreetly adjust himself and hide the wood he’s sporting.

“You really musta not slept last night,” Dean observes. “We’re about halfway to Storm Lake. Figured we could grab some food.”

“Right, food,” Sam mutters and rubs at his eyes. The dream had never happened, but it wasn’t just a dream. It was one of Sam’s many memories from when Gadreel had shoved him down inside his own mind and fed him a lie. A life that hadn’t been real, but that Sam still wishes had been. A life where Sam had finally been able to be open with Dean.

And Dean had been open with him. _Stop torturing yourself_ , Sam berates himself as he puts his hands through his hair and tries to make it resemble something close to tidy. Leaning against the window always messed it up.

Once the Impala’s parked, Sam gets out and follows Dean into the diner. He feels too tired to be fussy about food, so he just has the same as Dean for once, though minus the extra onions. Glancing at Dean once their waitress is gone, Sam finds an intense look on his brother’s face. Like staring at Sam is going to help him figure out whatever’s going on with him.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Nice… dream?”

Cheeks warming, Sam turns away and ducks his head a little. He’s never fully told Dean what Gadreel made him imagine when he’d been trapped inside his mind. Sure he’d mentioned the hunts they’d worked, but he’d described nothing of how Gadreel had found and played with what had been the ultimate wish fulfillment for Sam.

“It was just a dream.” Sam looks out the window beside their booth and pretends to be engrossed in the activities of the parking lot. He blinks a moment, having to recheck a license plate, but it’s just a series of letter and numbers, like any plate would be. Not the series of dots he thought he saw a second ago.

“Sam—”

“Not talking about it. Seriously. Let it go.” Sam looks away from the lot and gives Dean a warning glare and then switches it to a smile as their waitress brings their coffees over.

“Here you go. Your meals will be ready in just a sec.” A bell dings and the waitress smiles and hurries off.

Dean’s about to push again and then their food is being served. He loses the chance to get Sam to talk as Sam dives into his burger. <em<Fine, I’ll wait, because Dean doesn’t want to stop Sam from eating, considering he hardly touched his breakfast.

Picking up a fry, Dean sees the hole in the motel room. Sees Sam kneeling on the floor, looking out of it and clearly in pain. Stuffing the fry in his mouth, Dean decides to hope that it’s all just nothing. But Dean can’t ignore the part of him that’s saying that maybe, _just maybe_ , it really is something as it pulls up all the little moments where Sam hasn’t quite been himself of late.

***

Night is settling over Storm Lake as Dean pulls up outside a small bar. It looks about as welcoming as any of these places do, with its flaking paint, grimy light fixtures and a steady stream of all sorts coming and going. A place for locals. Sam expects that they’ll get a few people’s backs up nosing around, but they need information and they’re not gonna wait until morning when they can start pestering local law enforcement.

It’s a small town, and having two couples “murdered” in the space of a month isn’t exactly gonna go unnoticed. Walking into Sampson’s bar, Sam puts on a friendly smile, pats down his plaid shirt and orders two beers and a basket of hot wings while Dean disappears into the men’s room. A couple of heads turn Sam’s way and he ignores them as he’s appraised by the strangers.

Sam’s not gonna start asking questions straight up. He needs the people there to adjust to him and decide he’s not much of a threat to begin with. Wants them to believe that he’s the opposite of what he is: a dangerous man.

Sitting at the bar, Sam sips his beer and waits for Dean to come back before he starts talking to anyone. Not that he keeps completely to himself, keeping his pose open and welcoming, making flirty eye contact with a couple of the people there, including the bartender. A guy sat at the other end of the bar raises his glass to Sam and he can’t help notice the way his eyes take him in. Sam notes the guy’s short light brown hair, brown eyes, and a leather jacket and gray plaid obscuring some real muscle definition. The guy’s well worn jeans look lived in. Sam refuses to acknowledge any resemblance between this guy and his brother, pushing the thoughts down deep… But there’s a traitorous flutter in his chest thanks to the interest.

_Okay, always a risk that someone will take a shine to you when you’re being too friendly_. The guy gets up from his stool and walks over to Sam, beer in hand. _Crap_.

“Hey, I’m Tyler,” says the guy, holding his hand out.

Sam shakes Tyler’s hand, finding his grip to be surprisingly strong. “Bill.”

“Mind if I join you?” Tyler asks and Sam’s mouth goes dry. He had not expected this and apparently the second glass of beer must be invisible.

Blush rising to his cheeks, Sam is trying to remember the English language when Dean comes to his rescue and puts a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Before Dean can say anything, Tyler is backing off. “Don’t worry, Bill. I’ll see you around.” Tyler leaves his beer and heads out.

“What was that?” Dean asks, sitting down beside Sam and grabbing his own beer.

The wings are put down between them and Sam huffs out a breath. “I think that was someone getting ready to hit on me.”

Dean pauses from biting the sauce covered wing he’s picked up. “Oh… uh…”

“Can we just get back on track here,” Sam cuts in.

“You sure?”

“We’re not here for hook ups.”

“Right.” Dean pulls off what little spice covered flesh is on the wing and makes sucking noises that leaves Sam wishing he’d made him get a bowl of fries instead.

Deciding he can’t take anymore, Sam gets off his stool and walks down to where the bartender is stacking some glasses. The bartender catches Sam out of the corner of his eye and turns to him.

“What can I getcha?” the older man asks. “Actually, I was wondering if you knew anything about the bodies found over at the old waterpark, in the past few weeks... and could I get some nachos?” Sam smiles and pulls out his wallet.

“Sure… Gimme a moment.” The bartender walks to a doorway that leads to a kitchen and hollers the nachos order. He walks back to Sam. “That’s twelve dollars.”

Sam hands the bartender some cash and he puts it in the register, the drawer snapping closed with a vicious crunch.

“Terrible business is what it is.” The bartender leans against the back of the bar and shakes his head. “Why do you want to know?”

Sam slips a fifty across the bar and the bartender pockets it. No point in saying he’s FBI until after they’ve made contact with the sheriff.

The bartender sighs. “One pair of locals and a couple visiting out of state. I knew Claire Tanner and Eddie Potter. They were engaged. Wedding was set for the summer. Didn’t know the out of towners, but no one deserves _that_ … y’know?”

Sam nods his head in agreement. “Of course.”

A woman calls from the kitchen and the bartender heads in. Returning with Sam’s food, the bartender puts the bowl of nachos down and shakes his head again.

“Is there,” Sam picks up a cheese covered nacho, “anything you can tell me about the other couple, the ones from out of state?”

The bartender screws up his lips as he clearly tries to think of what to say. “They were a… gay couple?” The question is asked in such a way that the man is clearly trying to check that the term he’s used is correct.

Sam nods. “A gay couple,” he replies in a confident tone to show the bartender that he’s fine using that term.

“Right. I think they mighta been visiting Joe Robertson. He’s a retired college professor, used to teach at Brown. But that’s as much as I know.”

“Thanks for the info. I’ll stop taking up anymore of your time.” Sam smiles, picks up his nachos and beer, and heads back down to Dean.

Finishing his last wing, Dean sucks his fingers off one-by-one and winks at Sam as he sits back down next to him. “Well?”

Trying to ignore the sight and sound of Dean, Sam replies, “One couple was local and the other was visiting from out of state. Seemingly nothing in common other than that they were couples.” Sam bites into a nacho and chews.

Dean frowns. “Anything else?”

“The locals were going to be married in the summer. And the guys were a couple from out of state… probably visiting an old college professor.” Sam looks at his bowl of nachos and then pushes them away. He places his hands down flat against the bar.

Repressing the urge to push the nachos back to Sam, Dean sighs. “Hope we can get more out of the sheriff office tomorrow.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” Sam fidgets on his stool and his forehead creases.

“You okay?” Dean asks, reaching out a hand towards his brother.

Sam rubs at his forehead. “Just… tired.” He grits his teeth. “Can we… just go check in at a motel? I’m feeling pretty beat.”

“‘Course.” Dean gets up from his stool and tries to not be too obvious with the sideways glances he throws Sam’s way. _C’mon, he’s probably still feeling rough from you trying to beat the crap outta him. It’s nothing_. The hardly touched bowl of nachos tells Dean otherwise, but he ignores that message.

Dean doesn’t buy that it’s nothing, and a familiar dread settles over him like a thick, smothering blanket that he can’t find the energy to pull back.


	3. Chapter 3

The second Dean opens the door to their motel room, Sam’s pushing past and locking himself in the bathroom. _It’s getting worse._ The only reassuring aspect is it’s nothing like before when he was definitely a pawn in the apocalypse. Without the fog of demonic influence, or the stress of Hell bearing down on him, Sam is experiencing visions like a true psychic. He’s seeing things beyond the machinations of Lucifer’s former servants. Like Missouri or Pamela would have crazy levels of insight about the people and events happening around them.

Turning on the faucet, Sam splashes cold water onto his face and tries to shake what he saw in the bar. The vision was longer this time. Dean crying and looking down at his feet: Sam still and lifeless. Naked. Ragged, puncture wounds on his inner thigh.

“Sam! Open up!” Dean thuds a fist against the door.

How a vamp would get the jump on Sam, he doesn’t know. Seeing that it’s a possibility in his future fills Sam with a brand of fear he’s not felt in sometime. _And what if I do die? Dean… Dean will never know_. A tear rolls down Sam’s cheek.

“C’mon, Sammy, open up!”

Turning around and swallowing hard, Sam wipes his face with a towel and opens the door. “I’m fine.”

Shakes are slowly beginning to work their way through Sam’s tall frame and Dean is not in the mood for any of his brother’s bullshit. “That’s crap and you know it.”

“I’m fine.” Sam winces.

Reaching out to Sam, Dean cups his brother’s face. Sam blanches in pain but doesn’t flinch away. “Saying it twice don’t make it any truer. It’s just hurting from the fight, right?” Dean asks. Dean is definitely still feeling the aches and pains from being battered by Sam and he just needs Sam to not pause.

_C’mon, Sammy, I just hit you a little too hard, right?_

Sam takes a little too long to finally reply, “Yeah.”

_It doesn’t mean anything, he could just be hurting too much… Okay, bed, pain pills and sleep. I got this. I got this. He just needs a decent night’s sleep and a good breakfast in the morning._ Dean smiles at Sam.

“C’mon, bed.”

***

_“Cat’s out!”_

Sam jolts up in bed and the lamp beside his bed is gently wobbling on its stand. Careful breaths and gentle touches to his forehead slowly calm Sam enough that the lamp stops trembling. He tries to ignore the echo of Ca— Lucifer’s words and the attempts of his cruel imagination to throw up memories of that moment in the Bunker.

The moment that ripped away the control he’d been refining over two years.

Groping for his phone on the bedside table, Sam picks it up and checks the time. It’s four in the morning and he’s gotten maybe five hours sleep. Laying back down on the mattress, Sam looks over and sees Dean’s eyes wide open and watching him.

Neither speaks. They just stare at each other, the night growing closer to dawn.

“What’s going on?” Dean finally asks, turning on the lamp.

_I can’t explain the lamp, please don’t have seen that, please_ , Sam thinks, but he’s terrified of how Dean might react to knowing that the Boy King is back. Sans demon blood. _I can’t lose him again_ , but Sam knows that Dean isn’t going to be happy about Sam keeping something as big as this all to himself for over two years.

There’s a pain in Dean’s eyes glimmering in the darkness and Sam knows he can’t tell his brother the truth. At least not all of it.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sam tries to get the words together. It’s not like he hasn’t had this kind of talk with Dean before and felt like his life was going to be torn in two. Plus he hasn’t even tasted a drop of demon blood. It’s not the same as before. He doesn’t have to come clean— _I’m not a risk._

_But I’m still corrupted. Still impure and—_

“Sammy?” Dean climbs out of his bed and sits on the edge of Sam’s. “Talk.”

“I…” Sam manages and has to close his eyes. _I can’t let you down_.

Dean’s hand lands on Sam’s shoulder and squeezes it. Dean doesn’t say anything, but seems to be willing Sam the strength to say what’s really going on.

But Sam can’t form the words. To say it out loud and acknowledge to another living person, to Dean, _his_ Dean that he is anything less than normal—well, their kind of normal—isn’t something he can do. Sam opens his eyes and looks to Dean. _I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you the whole truth…_

“I keep… seeing Cas… Lucifer… Back in the library… Feeling him… Dean. It just keeps playing over and over,” _and I’m having visions of my own death at the jaws of a vampire_ , “and I can’t sleep. Can’t eat.”

A sob claws its way out of Sam and he starts shaking as tears fall down his cheeks. Dean’s suddenly laying down on his bed beside him, drawing him into a hug. And Sam hates how he can’t help himself breathing in Dean’s scent, enjoying how he smells of gun oil and sandalwood.

“It’s okay, Sammy. Hey, c’mon. We’re gonna get Cas back.” Dean rubs small circles into his back, just like he use to when Sam was little and had woken up from a nightmare.

Sam nods against Dean’s neck, ignoring the pain building in his back bent low enough for Dean to hug him like this.

“And… nothing else is wrong, right?”

The weight of continuing to lie pulls at Sam. He’d managed to keep things under wraps since Gadreel— and he could cope until they had Cas back and Amara sealed away or whatever. Looking up into Dean’s eyes, Sam shakes his head and tries to ignore how close he is to Dean’s full, beautiful lips.

“N-nothing,” Sam says, breath catching in his chest. He pulls away from Dean. “Should probably try to get some… more sleep at least.”

Dean nods and stands up from Sam’s bed, climbs back into his own and turns off the lamp.

Sam lays down again, curling up on his side and pulling his covers close, wondering if Dean bought what he’d said.

***

_Thank God for coffee_ , Dean thinks to himself as he washes down the last of his breakfast burrito. He hadn’t managed to fall back to sleep after Sam’s nightmare. Looking up at Sam, sat across from him at their small motel table, Dean tries to read the frown on Sam’s face as his little brother scans through something on his tablet. Sam’s already finished his breakfast burrito and Dean is allowing himself to hope that getting Sam talking to him was what had been needed.

But there’s a tiny voice in the back of Dean’s head, reminding Dean of what else he’s seen over the past two days. Worrying him. Telling him that Sam hasn’t explained everything. _You know_ , the voice says, _he’s holding back. There’s more here._

Dean stands up and throws the remains of his breakfast in the trashcan. _Shut up_.

***

Approaching the sheriff's office, Dean taps his hands on Baby’s steering wheel and glances over at Sam. The dark gray suit, fitted coat and blue-red stripe tie Sam’s wearing with a light blue dress shirt is really setting off Sam’s hair today, and Dean’s noticing this, looking for any signs that Sam is doing better. Dean could lie to himself and say yes Sam is doing better, but no. He shakes his head and focuses on pulling into the parking lot beside the office.

Stepping into the warmth of the office, Dean heads over to the front desk and flashes his fake badge, along with Sam, to the clerk sat at the desk. “I’m Special Agent Lance Bean and this is my partner Special Agent Bill Rizer. We’re here about those bodies dumped at the waterpark.”

The clerk looks over at them with surprise, her brown curls shifting as she looks over her shoulder to the open office behind her and nods towards a man who must be the sheriff. She looks back to Dean and Sam, giving a strained smile.

“You best talk with Sheriff Collins.”

“Thank you,” Dean replies and leads the way as they head over to the sheriff.

Sheriff Collins holds out a hand and shakes it as Dean and Sam introduce themselves. Collins is in his fifties and graying, but looks pretty capable still.

“Agents, we weren’t expecting you,” Sheriff Collins half grumbles as he finishes shaking their hands.

“Sorry about turning up unannounced, but we were passing through and heard about the case. Figure’d a fresh pair of eyes might help,” explains Sam.

_Now to find out how you feel about the Feds _, Dean watches Collins carefully.__

“Appreciate the thought. Lucky you got here this morning, I was just about to release the victims’ bodies to their families.” Collins gives an exasperated sigh. “I’ll let the county morgue know you’re on your way. Tell them to call me once you’re done with your examination.”

“Of course.” Sam nods.

_Well that was easy_ , Dean and Sam walk out of the sheriff’s office. _Probably too easy_.

“You don’t think that was too easy?” Sam asks as they get back into the Impala.

“Depends what we find once we’re at the morgue.”

***

“I thought the bodies were being released today,” shrills the coroner as she leads them down to the morgue, auburn hair bouncing along with her steps.

“Sheriff Collins says the bodies are to be released once we’re done checking them over,” replies Sam.

Pushing through double doors into the morgue proper, Sam ignores the almost familiar stench of over cleanliness that comes with morgues. At the bottom of the sharp disinfectant is the hint of fleshy decay. Sam stuffs his hands in his pockets as he feels for a pair of extra large examination gloves.

Pulling out the bodies from their lockers, the coroner heads towards the doors out. “Lemme know when you’re done.”

And just like that, Sam and Dean are left alone with the bodies of the victims. Under the sheets the bodies are not quite laid out as expected, arms and legs stuck out in strange ways, heads not looking straight up. Sam steps over to two male bodies as he pulls on his examination gloves. “These are,” Sam checks their toe tags, “Richard Gomez and Oscar Reed.”

“Claire Tanner and Eddie Potter,” Dean says looking at the tags on the other two bodies. All four are each covered in a thin white sheet to preserve in death whatever little dignity they have left. Dean steps back and gives Sam a pleading look that asks him to do the next part.

Carefully, Sam lifts the lower end of the sheet up Gomez’s legs and tries to retain the veneer of a professional. Reaching Gomez’s thighs, Sam drops the sheet and gently pulls the corpse’s legs apart. Eyes scanning pale flesh, it doesn’t take Sam long to find the ragged puncture wounds that signify a vampire bite. He checks Reed and knows he’ll find the same.

Easing the white sheet up Reed’s lifeless frame, Sam finds another set of bite marks that look identical to Gomez’s. Turning to Tanner and Potter, Sam uncovers their marks and sighs once they’re all on display.

“Definitely vamps,” states Sam, peering at Potter’s mark again. “Maybe even the same one.”

“Greedy son of a bitch.” Dean steps a little closer.

Sam blinks and sees himself on the gurney. He blinks again and he’s gone. “Yeah…”

Covering up the victims again, Sam leaves them where they are for the coroner to return them to storage. Snapping off his gloves, Sam looks over at the victims, sadness welling up inside him.

“Well, looks like we got a case,” states Dean as they retreat back up to the coroner’s office.

Sam nods. “I wonder why they were pi—”

“Hey, agents!” calls the coroner as they reach the top of their stairs. “Sheriff’s Office just called: two more bodies have showed up, at the old waterpark”

“Old waterpark?” Dean asks as the coroner reaches them.

“Yeah, north side. Collins said to tell you two to get on up there.”

***

The waterpark towers in front of them.

“How long’s this place been closed?” Dean asks as they approach the north gate and park up beside the vehicles of the team members from the Sheriff’s Office.

“More than a decade from what I can tell.”

The two of them get out of the Impala and Dean shivers in the cold air. Sheriff Collins is waiting for them in the shadow of the decaying fibreglass slides and rusting steel girders and supports.

“Agents, if you’ll follow me,” Collins greets, sounding tired.

Walking over cracked paving, weeds and young saplings working to reclaim a place that must have once featured in many a happy summer for families on vacation, Sam feels a pressure in his ears. The washed out reds and blues of the decaying water slides are a little too vivid and Sam’s head feels too light.

“Any idea who the latest victims are?” Dean walks closely beside Collins.

“They’re not local, that’s all I can tell you.”

They don’t have far to walk until they reach the latest victims. A crime scene photographer is just finishing up and a couple of forensics guys are doing one final sweep. Sam and Dean hadn’t seen any of the previous crime scene photos, though Sam knew the couples had been left in different locations at the park.

Lifeless and staring up at them, the bodies have been posed. Heads are tilted just so and propped up on rocks, limbs tangled with each other in a lover’s embrace. _That explains the bodies in the morgue_. The couple this time features a man and a woman, no older than thirty, both naked and posed at the foot of a long water slide where water would have been waiting once upon a time. The tiles underneath are cracked.

“Have all the victims been posed like this?” Dean asks Sheriff Collins.

“Like they’re just in bed together? Every damn time,” Collins replies bitterly.

Sam pulls out another pair of gloves and snaps them on. He crouches down beside the man and gingerly pushes the man’s legs apart—just enough to see what he knows will already be there.

“Same marks?” Dean asks from somewhere above him.

“Same marks.” Sam breathes out hard through his nose. There’s no sign of either struggling or of being tied. Sam stands up and looks at the immediate area surrounding the couple, he doesn’t see anything much of interest and pulls off his gloves. Stuffing the gloves in his pocket, he heads back over to Dean and Collins.

“Listen, agents, I don’t want to say it, but…” Collins lets his words just hang there.

“But you think you might have a serial killer operating outta your town,” Sam finishes for him. Dean gives a concerned look to Sam as if to say: _Don’t get the real Feds involved dude, we know it’s a vamp_.

“Now look, I’m not going to officially say that... It’ll get folks worried.” Collins shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “But any help you two might be able to give to bring in this sick bastard in would be mighty appreciated.”

“Sure, of course,” Dean replies.

Sam’s about to say something, but then looks at the bodies again. _It would have been hard to pose the bodies post-mortem here, but there’s no signs of a struggle_.

Collins’ cell rings and he excuses himself.

“What is it, Rizer?” Dean asks Sam. They’re still in earshot of a couple of officers.

“The vics must have been killed here to be posed so easily like that, but… there’s no signs of a struggle or abrasion on their skin from being tied up. How’d the unsub get them here and kill them so easily?” Sam looks back at the victims. They didn’t need to be asking this for their own benefit, Sam knew that, but they at least needed to seem a little like they were FBI.

“Must have been drugged,” Dean suggests, looking back at the couple.

Sam lets out a long breath, the park seeming brighter still. “It would make the most sense.”

“Hey, you doing okay there?” Dean asks, but his voice sounds far away.

Nodding, Sam takes another long breath and tries to ignore how ridiculously clear everything looks. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spots something gold glinting between some cracked tiles. Legs unsteady, Sam walks over to the cracked tiles and sees a small gold cross on a dainty gold chain.

“This must have been the woman’s,” Sam says and reaches down for the gold chain.

Sam’s fingers brush the necklace, the metal fine and delicate beneath his touch. Blackness surrounds him.

“You… can’t… do this,” says a woman, voice weak and sleep heavy.

“Ssssh, now,” says a man’s voice, calm and deep. There’s sickening wet sound of flesh tearing open, sinew being split by something sharp, followed by a low whimper.

Opening his eyes, which takes a lot of effort, Sam turns and sees the back of the head of the vampire that’s biting down on the naked woman’s thigh as it drinks deeply from her. Sucking and humming. The vampire has light brown hair and a leather jacket.

The humming stops and the vampire lets go of the woman’s leg. A man is already dead beside her.

“Now then,” says the vampire as it starts to pose the bodies, shifting them with ease this way and that.

“Hey, hey! You with me man?!” Dean yells into Sam’s ear.

No vampire stands in front of Sam and when did he end up on his knees? His right hand hurts and he looks down at it to see the gold chain dangling from it. He opens his hand.

Dean says something else and Sam’s being pulled to his feet. Inside Sam’s hand is the gold cross.

Another pair of hands is on him and Sam’s being helped away from the crime scene. Somehow, Sam ends up in the Impala and then he blacks out.


	4. Chapter 4

Back aching, Dean sits across from Sam, watching his brother breathe as he lays on a bed in the local medical center. The insurance had been a mess, but Dean had pulled something together so that Sam wouldn’t be kicked out and could get the help that he clearly needed. There’s a drip feeding fluids into one hand; an oxygen monitor on one finger; several wires leading from his chest to a heart monitor and an oxygen mask over Sam’s mouth and nose. A doctor had said something to Dean about exhaustion or that it might be something else, but they’d need to wait for the results from other tests to be sure.

All Dean can think right now is how he’d hoped to never see Sam so helpless again. _It better just be exhaustion_ , he keeps telling himself over and over. The last time Sam was hospitalized it had been after Dean had told him to stop doing the Trials. For now Dean has to hold onto the suggestion that Sam will wake up soon.

Not long ago, Dean would have been calling up Cas and talking to him. Asking him for help, for support—never directly asking for those things, but Cas would have figured him out. Made it a little clearer in his mind what he needed to do. _There’s a fucking vamp out there chowing down on this town and…_

“I don’t know what to do, Sammy,” Dean says softly so that only Sam can hear him. “I need to find this vamp, but I can’t… I can’t just…”

Sam’s words from back in that medical center in Superior, before they knew the real deal about the Darkness, runs through his head: _We have to change_.

 _But I can’t leave you here like this_. Dean looks miserably at Sam. _Just wake up and tell me you’re alright. That you’re feeling like crap because you haven’t been taking care of yourself_. Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dean tries not to think it but he does: _that you’re feeling like crap, because I haven’t been looking out for you. And something is going on, but you’re not talking… I thought we weren’t doing this anymore._

Turning his gaze to the floor, Dean pushes against the pain in his chest that’s there because Sam isn’t okay.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is groggy and rough, muted by the oxygen mask.

Snapping his head up, Dean half-jumps out of his seat and crowds Sam. “Sammy!” And if Dean is wearing a relieved, sappy grin as he stares at his brother? He doesn’t care.

“Dean… what happened?” Sam asks, pawing at the mask on his face.

“I’ll explain in a minute, lemme go get a nurse.”

Nodding his head, Sam stops trying to take his mask off and waits as Dean goes looking for a nurse. A headache is slowly clawing its way through his brain and Sam winces as he sees flashes of the latest death. He remembers picking up the gold necklace and holding it.

 _Psychometry…? That’s a new one_. Sam looks around his bed and wonders how quickly he can get out of there, having little to no desire for being kept somewhere like this. Moving his right hand, Sam’s flesh is painfully tugged and he looks down to see the cannula that’s been set into his hand. Tracing the line from the cannula all the way up to the fluid bag he’s on, Sam notes that he’s on a banana bag.

“Yeah, he’s awake,” comes Dean’s voice carrying from the corridor outside Sam’s room.

Dean’s followed in by a doctor and nurse, who proceed to examine him and then remove his oxygen mask. The doctor diagnoses exhaustion. There’s the promise of being discharged today if Sam/Bill agrees to let the drip finish, eat a meal and head back to the motel to rest up and let his partner work the case. Sam agrees in principle, but as soon as it’s just Dean and him again, Sam’s itching to get back on the case as his energy returns to him.

“Sam, you’re following doctor’s orders, at least for today,” says Dean, voice filled with concern. “I’ll go get you something to eat, and we are going to talk about how you’ve been looking after yourself, but first… what happened at the waterpark? What’s the deal with this?” Dean holds up the gold cross.

It’s hard for Sam to keep his face neutral and the frown that Dean gives him tells Sam that he’s failed. _I can’t…_

“Sam, tell me what’s going on. Or so help me I am going to find a damn... _truth_ hex bag, staple it to your ass and tie you up until you spit out what the hell is going on.”

“You wouldn’t.” But Sam isn’t so sure.

“Maybe before we tried taking things back to basics I wouldn’t have. But this me? The old-new me? He’s sick of not knowing what the hell is happening with his baby brother. Talk.”

The stare Dean levels at Sam pins him and he knows he can’t escape Dean now. Can’t keep hiding. Sam starts to tremble, because he never wanted to have to talk to Dean about this kind of thing again. _No, he doesn’t need this on him, doesn’t need…_

“Sam.” Dean glares at him like he can see Sam trying to throw a sheet over the truth and keep it out of sight.

“That cross,” Sam begins, deciding to wimp out, “was one of the vics’… And I just… y’know, haven’t been looking after myself.”

Huffing out a breath through his nose, Dean wasn’t believing all of it. Couldn’t believe what Sam was saying.

“Just, since Cas, I haven’t been… in the right headspace,” Sam continues.

“And that’s everything? You’re just not looking after yourself enough, right? Nothing else going on?” _Because you know, Dean, he did look like he was having a vision the other day_ , but Dean doesn’t want to add credence to his own suspicions.

“I’m just feeling like crap, because I haven’t been eating and sleeping right. I promise I’ll try to take better care of myself.”

 _And I’ll keep a closer eye on you_. “Sure, whatever,” Dean says, unable to keep a note of resentment from his voice. It’s hard to miss the hurt look in Sam’s eyes and Dean closes his eyes and tries to put on the “caring brother” face.

“I’ll see about rustling you up some grub and then we’ll get you discharged.” Dean backs away and heads out of the room before Sam can reply.

***

Door creaking open, Dean sweeps his eyes over their motel room. Satisfied nothing is amiss, he leads Sam in, arm around his brother’s waist, bag of snacks on his other arm, and sits Sam down on his bed on the far side of the room. It’s late afternoon and Dean is hoping he might be able to work the case a little that day. Get some kind of lead while Sam rests up.

Stepping away from Sam, Dean looks to Sam’s face and finds he can’t read the look he’s being given. A small smile and sad eyes, like pure adoration and sadness mixed together.

“What?” Dean asks.

“You’re gonna go and work the case.” Sam looks worried.

“One of us has to,” Dean replies and shifts over to the table and opens up the laptop there.

“I can he—”

Dean snaps his head back towards Sam. “No, you’re resting up. I’ll be gone a few hours and I’ll bring something for dinner. So just get the History Channel on and chill.”

That gets Dean a glare from Sam, but he fumbles for the remote all the same and does put on the History Channel. Sam doesn’t seem to to like it and soon he’s channel hopping while Dean tries to check a few details about the victims.

The sheriff had sent over the identities of the latest victims—locals again, _but_ ones who had recently returned to their hometown—and Dean was trying to see who he might interview to find out about their last movements. Even the sheriff’s team hadn’t been able to get a full picture on that. Jotting down two names and addresses, Dean forces himself to ignore the feeling of unsaid things replacing the air in the room. Making it hard to concentrate. He needed to work the case, find the vamp and handle it. _Nothing to it_. Sure Dean is paying no attention to the part where this is clearly not a regular vamp case, because of how all the victims have been put on display.

Pushing out his seat, Dean stands up and grabs his notes. “Okay, I’m gonna go interview the families of the victims who were from town.” Dean walks over to the bag of snacks he bought on the way back to the motel and digs out a couple of candy bars, an apple and a bottle of water.

“Right.”

Normally Dean would just throw the stuff at Sam and expect him to catch them. The hollows under his brother’s eyes and the sallowness of his skin tells Dean that that won’t work right now. Dropping the food and water beside Sam, Dean puts what he hopes is a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezes it.

“I want that all gone before I get back.” Dean gives Sam an encouraging smile and his heart skips a little at the puppy eyes Sam throws back his way. Unsure of quite what he’s done to deserve the level of adoration that’s there, Dean smiles again and backs away towards the door.

“Be careful,” Sam calls after Dean, voice sounding sleepy, as Dean opens the door.

“Not an amatuer, Sammy,” Dean shoots back and grins.

***

“Fuck!” Sam shouts, sinking down into Dean’s tight ass and bottoming out.

“Sam, please… need you…” Dean’s breathing comes fast and the plea in his voice isn’t one Sam can ignore.

Pulling back experimentally, Sam pushes back fully into Dean and his brother arches up against him. Bringing his lips to Dean’s back, Sam kisses the salty sweat from Dean’s skin as he begins to build up a steady rhythm. Unsure what he can get away with yet. Worried he’ll break Dean.

Closing his eyes for a second, Sam takes a deep breath and then opens them, vision filled with a set of brown eyes and slight freckles. The tight heat of Dean is gone. A tangy coppery smell hits Sam’s nostrils and he tastes blood. Blown pupils gaze back at him and he can hear the sickening gloopy mouthfuls of blood being drunk by a vampire.

It’s like a chisel is being thrust through his temple and Sam bolts up in bed, eyes really open now and the room lit up by the TV. His wilting boner is the only evidence of the start of his dreams. Trying to think on what he just dreamed sends the chisel deeper and Sam clambers out his bed.

Diving for his duffel, Sam sinks to the floor and pulls out a bottle of Advil. Swallowing the pills down dry, Sam tries to get his heart and breathing back to normal. _I know those eyes_ , Sam thinks back to the bar and the guy that had started hitting on him.

Looking over to the bedside table between the beds, Sam spots the gold cross from earlier. Flashes of the guy with his leather jacket and light brown hair cloud his mind’s eye and Sam shudders. _But I can’t just go after him.. After Tyler. Need to be sure_. Limbs uncooperative, it takes Sam a moment to get to his feet. Unsteadily, he walks over to his bed and sits down on it.

Flashes of his death vision play out and Sam feels his energy leech out of his feet and get sucked into the floor. Grabbing shakily for the candy bars he’s yet to eat, Sam opens the wrapper on one and shoves half of it in his mouth and chews. Even when he wasn’t choosing to use his powers they drained him.

 _It’s worse than when I used to drink demon blood before doing this kind of crap_ , Sam thinks bitterly. But that is a path Sam does not want to tread down again. Part of him hasn’t wanted to acknowledge that his powers had come back after Gadreel, but as he chews through the candy bars Dean gave him, Sam is beginning to understand that he needs to keep himself fueled with at least more food than usual. Or rather just take better care of himself.

 _How does Missouri deal with this?_ Sam wonders and then is hit with a wave of guilt. The one person he could have called, should have called: they haven’t spoken since before John died. _Okay, I’ll call her for psychic health tips after this vamp situation is sorted._

Sugar hitting his bloodstream and reinvigorating him, Sam’s about to call Dean to ask him how things are going when his cell starts to ring on the bedside table.

Sam answers it, “Hey, I was just about to call you. Um, any luck talking to the families?”

“No one knows much of anything, but prior to dropping off the radar and reappearing dead, they were all at that bar from last night.”

Sam’s stomach feels cold.

“Figured we could head out there again after we’ve eaten. See you in five.”

“Sure.” Sam hangs up and looks to the cross on the bedside table.


	5. Chapter 5

Stuffed with Italian food—Dean had insisted on Sam finishing everything Dean had gotten for him, including a generous share of garlic bread—Sam walks into the bar with Dean and acts cool. They’re just here to hang and have a few beers, though they’re unsure how far word of them being _Feds_ may have spread since the morning. They look like regular people right now, all jeans and plaid. Sam’s trying to figure out what to do if he sees Tyler there tonight. Like how does he explain to Dean that he thinks Tyler is the vamp they’re looking for?

_By the way, I had a vision of him drinking the blood of the last known female victim._ Sam shudders slightly. _And maybe felt him drink from another victim?_

Scanning the space as they take a couple of stools beside the bar, Sam can’t see Tyler there. The evening is still young, it being only eight, so Sam figures there’s still plenty of time for the guy to show his face.

“Hey,” Dean whispers.

Sam turns to face Dean and looks down at his open jacket and the hypodermics hiding in the pocket. “Dead man’s blood?”

“Uh-huh. Say, do you think this vamp is only drawn towards couples?”

Sam swallows awkwardly. “Y—yeah. Everyone so far has been romantically or physically involved with each other.”

“What can I get you two?” asks the bartender, saving Sam for a moment.

Dean orders their drinks and stays thoughtful as they wait for them. Glasses set down, the two of them are left on their own again.

“Say, maybe… maybe we could be bait? Not like there seems to be any couples here tonight,” Dean suggests out of the blue.

It’s like a taser has just punctured Sam’s skin and sent 50,000 volts into his heart. The air suddenly seems like it’s a little too thin, head swimming, Sam has no idea how to respond to what Dean is suggesting without giving himself away.

“And we’ve been seen here together already, so it’s not like it would be as if we were suddenly involved with each other,” Dean continues, oblivious to the effect his words are having on Sam.

Shaking his head, Sam needs to stop Dean before they attempt such a masquerade. He can’t let his fantasies bleed into reality like that, have it held in front of him and not have a taste, a bite.

“Dean, that is a crazy idea. No. Just no,” Sam protests, waving his hands up in the air.

“It’s _Lance_ and no, it’s not crazy.” Dean shrugs and swallows a mouthful of beer.

“You don’t think it’s at all… gross?”

“It’s just pretend, Bill.”

_Just pretend?!_ Delivering a bitchface, Sam wills Dean to understand. “We’ll need to be _convincing_. I am not kissing you.”

“Doesn’t have to be anything… _too_ involved.” Dean drops his voice, “Don’t look now, but that guy from the other night is watching us. We have an audience. We need to stop this vamp, so let’s just put on a show and draw it out.”

And as if that was the cue that Dean needed, he grabs Sam by neck and kisses his brother right on the lips. Sam pulls back at first, but Dean’s hand keeps him place. Heart rate speeding up further, Sam drinks in Dean’s scent—gun oil, beer, sandalwood—and a flip switches.

Moving his lips, pressing into Dean, Sam starts to kiss back. A low moan bubbles out of his chest and he can feel Dean hesitate a second, shrug and kiss back nearly as enthusiastically. The press of Dean is better than anything Gadreel helped to construct in his mind and Sam can feel himself getting hard. He’s not sure how to stop, just wanting it to go on and on, to drag Dean into the restroom and make him beg and scream. A moan escapes Dean and he allows Sam to lick into his mouth.

Finally some sense must come to Dean and his brother lets up from his hold on Sam’s neck and pulls away. Meeting Dean’s eyes, Sam gulps a little and feels naked as Dean’s roving gaze definitely takes in Sam’s blown pupils, red cheeks and heaving chest. But that isn’t just what he sees.

Climbing off his stool, Dean gives Sam a weak smile. “Just gonna use the restroom.”

“O—okay.”

And Dean’s feet move at the fastest he’s ever walked. Door swinging shut behind him, Dean heads over to the sinks, turns on a faucet and starts splashing cold water on his face. Some of it gets up his nose and he breathes it in and starts to splutter and cough. Coughing into the basin, Dean tries to regain some composure, _because what the fuck was that back there?!_ Thinking he could just do that for the sake of the case and be okay? Dean now knows that was a mistake.

Getting his breathing under control, Dean looks up in the mirror set over the sink and stares at his reflection. Mounting terror and shame churns the noodles in his stomach. The way Sam had responded and how Dean had—

Thoughts and dreams long buried clamber up into his waking mind. Shuddering, Dean fights to deny the part of him that had once wanted what had just happened. He’d buried those desires and feelings so deep, that not even Alastair had been able to fish them out on the rack. Dean grips the porcelain basin and rocks himself.

_But Sam kissed back_ , the old voice of hope tells him. _He enjoyed it. You saw it._ There had been no mistaking the bulge Dean had caught out of the corner of his eye the moment he’d pulled away from Sam.

“D—Lance?” Sam calls from the now open door to the restroom. Dean hadn’t even heard the door open.

Dean’s mouth feels dry. “Yeah?”

“You coming back out?”

Letting out a long breath, Dean tries to compose himself before turning to face Sam. “Sorry, yeah.” Dean heads towards the door.

Settling back down at the bar, Dean watches Sam drink his beer and has to look away.

“You… wanna talk?” Sam asks, voice unsure.

Not about this, definitely not about this. “Why? There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh.” There’s no hiding from the hurt Sam puts into that simple word.

_I am the biggest asshole that ever lived_ , Dean thinks, dejectedly, drinking his beer as fast as he can without downing it in one go.

Sam finishes his drink just after Dean and without a single word between them, they get up and leave the bar. They’re unaware of the brown eyes that track their movements as they head on outside and to the Impala.

***

Head on his pillow, Sam stares through the gloom and studies the motel ceiling. They’d gotten the attention they needed, but that doesn’t make Sam feel any better.

Dean’s not even bothering to fake sleep, his breaths not even and steady as comes with slumber. _I pushed too far_ , Sam bites his lip to stop a sob. _Shouldn’t have just let go like that. I’ve fucked everything up. He’s—_

“Sammy… you awake?” Dean’s voice asks quietly into the dark.

“Yes,” Sam whispers.

The springs on Dean’s bed squeak and Sam follows suit so he’s on his side and looking into Dean’s gleaming eyes in the low light. Seeing evidence of silent tears is too much and Sam clambers out of his bed, old instincts kicking in. The instincts that saw him comfort Dean when John had been too harsh or a hunt hadn’t gone to plan and Dean had gotten hurt.

Before he can remember himself and take a moment to think that Dean might be repulsed by being so close to him, Sam’s in Dean’s bed and drawing his older brother into his arms. Dean doesn’t pull away and buries his face in Sam’s chest for a moment then draws back. Taking several deep centering breaths, Dean tentatively reaches an arm up to Sam’s back.

“Sam… what was that back there?” Dean asks in a scared voice, like Sam’s answer has the possibility to shatter him into a thousand pieces.

_He kissed back_ , a greedy part of Sam reminds himself. “Dean, I…” _God, am I going to do this? Confess how fucked up I am? Wow Sam, you can’t tell him that you’ve been psychic for the past few years, but you’re thinking of telling Dean just how much you want to jump his bones?_

“What?” Dean asks.

“I, um… I love you.”

“Oh,” Dean says quietly. “I love you too.”

“Dean… I _really_ love you. A lot.”

Sam can feel Dean swallow. “A lot?” Dean sounds hopeful.

“A lot.” Sam notes how Dean isn’t trying to claw away from him and jump out of the bed. Shifting a hand to the side of Dean’s face, Sam strokes his brother’s cheek with his thumb and then tilts Dean’s lips towards his.

Sam hovers, barely brushing his lips against Dean’s, unsure of his welcome as he feels for any signs of fear or hesitation. Just as Sam doesn’t think they’ll kiss, Dean’s lips move against his own and Dean opens their mouths. A searching tongue enters Sam’s mouth and he shivers with anticipation. <em. Sam swats away attempts by his brain to think about previous signs of Dean being into him like this.

Dean’s hand find Sam’s ass and grips while Sam groans into Dean’s mouth, half rutting against him. _This is… this is too fast_ , Sam realizes and he finally breaks the kiss and finds Dean’s eyes in the gloom.

Dean licks his lips. “Sammy??”

Biting his bottom lip, Sam shakes his head. “No… just… can we cuddle?”

“I don’t—”

“Just let me hold you then, please?”

“I don’t cuddle.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam pleads, voice with just the right level of puppy whine.

Dean relents, nods, and buries his face again against Sam’s chest. Making Sam hook his leg over Dean’s thigh as they lay on their sides, cuddling. It doesn’t take long before the day’s exhaustions catch up with them and the two brothers drift off into sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

John Winchester sits in the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sunlight is blazing in through the windows as they move along the open road, just Dean and his father. The sun’s warmth contrasts with the icy feelings within the car. Fear is making Dean tap his right foot and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“He ran away because of _you_ ,” John says suddenly.

The Impala isn’t heading towards Stanford to try and get Sam back, it is heading towards Pastor Jim’s.

Dean wants to tell John the truth that Sam doesn’t even know and that he’s gone because he couldn’t stand John anymore. But the fierce look in his father’s eyes tells Dean that to try and explain the truth will see him left on the side of the road. With or without a bullet in him? Dean’s not sure.

So Dean stays silent. Disputing what John had heard that one time hadn’t worked. Trying to tell him that Dean was lusting after some girl who happened to be called Samantha? John had seen right through that when he’d walked in on Dean, back early from a case three weeks ago. Sam had been out getting some food and beer at the time, and missed how Dean had been sent packing to a local bar until John thought he could stand to see his eldest’s face again.

Nothing Dean can say is going to thaw the chill in the car. Not even that Sam had shown him his acceptance letter weeks ago and had been planning on leaving for quite some time. All the money he’d been stowing away for his dream.

Despite what his father seems to think, Dean has never made a move on Sammy. Always kept it brotherly to his face and done what he could to keep his “sickness” at bay. But as soon as Sam hit 17, Dean had been looking for signs that maybe, perhaps something was there. A few times he’d caught Sam looking at him in ways that suggested there was and Dean had refused to say anything in the end, deciding he could never be worthy of someone so pure and beautiful as Sam.

Now none of it matters, because Sammy’s gone and Dean’s being dumped to go and fend for himself until John decides he can tolerate his presence again.

“I should have seen it sooner,” John mutters. “Should have…”

Dean turns over. Cold air draws Dean out of his slumber. It’s still dark, but not for much longer. The impossible warmth of Sam is no longer surrounding him. A second passes. _Why is there a draft?_ Dean sits up in his bed and looks to the room door. It’s closed, as are all of the windows. But the bathroom door? There’s light pouring out from underneath it.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Dean gets up and walks over to the door and knocks on it. “Sam, you, uh okay in there?”

“Y—yeah. Sorry. Needed some air.” The bathroom window is slid shut and Sam opens the door. “Hey.”

_He ran away because of you_. The nightmare coffin of Dean’s memories engulfs him and he has to look away from Sam for a second. He tries to will away the unwanted reminisce, but it clings to him.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam steps closer and Dean sniffs. “It’s gonna be light soon… I’ll make us some coffee,” Sam says softly. A hand strokes Dean’s shoulder and he’s walked over to the room’s only real table.

Sitting down, Dean’s dimly aware of Sam moving around him and getting the coffee maker going. The lights are switched on. A blanket ends up around his shoulders, because he’s shivering as he’s only in t-shirt and boxers.

Warm mug pressed into his hands, Dean takes a sip of acrid black coffee and sighs with the bitterness flooding his tongue, enjoying the harsh taste pulling him from his thoughts. Looking up from the mug Dean’s greeted by Sam’s soulful hazel eyes and sleep fluffed hair. He’s got sweats on and an old baseball shirt.

“You wanna talk?” Sam asks, own mug in his hands, guilty look on his face.

Giving Dean an option is never a great idea, but he understands he probably should. _Fine, time for a more than brotherly moment_. “Dad blamed me for you running off to Stanford.”

Eyes going wide and jaw slackening in disbelief, Sam shakes his head. “I left because of Dad.”

“Yeah, I knew that. But…” _Oh god… fuck, did Cas ever know?_

“But?”

Dean bites his bottom lip and then takes another sip of coffee, letting the pungent liquid keep him there. “He caught me jerking off… a few weeks before you left.”

Sam frowns. “So? No big deal.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean rubs at his forehead for a moment, still not quite believing what he was going to say. “I screamed your name when I came.” _There, it’s out_.

“Oh.” It’s Sam’s turn to take a sip of his coffee and look deep in thought.

“He figured you already knew that… what I was… and that’s why you walked out on us.”

Letting the truth sink in a little, Sam can understand why John might have thought that.

“Look, I’m a sick fuck. I shouldn’t have… I don’t know why I thought kissing you in the bar was a good idea.” Dean starts to get up and Sam shoots a hand out, holding Dean in place. Ushering him back into his seat.

It was Sam’s turn. “I’ve been… interested for a long while. But,” _please don’t freak out_ , “when I was trapped in my mind, y’know, by Gadreel… He found out. And he built me a fantasy where we finally, y’know, got together.” _And I’ve been holding back since and that’s not even the worst of it, Dean_.

“That’s... messed up.”

“Yep.” Sam puts his coffee down on the table and slides off his chair. He kneels between Dean’s legs, trying to make himself look as small and unintimidating as possible. “When Crowley burst in… I didn’t want to believe it was all in my head. And I get you’ve been hiding from this for a long time and that this all kinds of wrong and, and…”

Dean’s expression is terrified as he looks down at Sam.

“All that damn rational crap. But when I said, several months back, about having something with a hunter, who knows the life… I was thinking of you.”

Before Dean even says anything, Sam knows what he’s going to say. He’d had a vision while they slept.

“We can’t do this, Sammy, it’s not right.” Dean’s eyes are sad and filled with hurt.

“Who are we hurting, Dean? Tell me that and I’ll stop.”

Dean closes his eyes and sighs. “But…”

“Let me love you how you deserved to be loved. Please.”

Opening his eyes, Dean looks into Sam’s, desperate to believe that he deserves anything. He nods and Sam pulls him down into a kiss. It’s chaste and warm, filled with promises.

Dawn breaks.

***

Having checked in with the sheriff, the only news that morning so far is the lack of fresh bodies. Conversation between Sam and Dean had just stuck to the case. The sheriff worried that maybe the killer had moved on, but Sam bitterly reassured him, explaining that the killer was most likely still in the town.

“How do you know that the vamp is still here?” Dean asks as they get back into the Impala, a doughnut each in hand.

_Because, I had a vision that showed me it has to try and kill me first and I think I already know who he is._ “The way the vamp is staging the bodies shows that it has an affinity with the area. Likes it. The vamp might be a local. It certainly feels safe hunting and killing here.” Sam takes a bite of his jelly doughnut, chews and swallows.

“What, we profiling vamps now?” Dean asks incredulously.

“The more I think about it,” Sam licks some sugar from his lips, “the more I think that maybe we’re dealing with more than just a vamp. You ever known a vampire before to be this elaborate when killing its victims?”

Dean finishes the last of his doughnut and swallows. “Trapping them? Sure, it’s gotten elaborate, we’ve seen that. But you’re right: all this staging crap is kinda unusual. But,” Dean wags a finger, “only liking specific vics? I only ever remember the alpha vamp being that picky. I mean sure… Annie’s crowd went mainly after molesters, but that’s ‘cause they were easy pickings… But nothing like this.”

Nodding along to everything Dean says, Sam rubs at his temple a moment, pressure beginning to build. “Right, right,” the pain intensifies further, “so what I think is: the vamp was something else before it was turned.”

“Every vamp was something or someone else before they were turned.” Dean frowns. “You okay?”

Knuckles kneading his forehead, Sam continues, trying to maintain the illusion that he’s not about to have a vision. “I think the vamp, with picking couples as victims and all the staging of the bodies, was previously a serial killer. Still is a serial killer. And the way he’s staging the bodies has meaning to—” Sam pitches forward in his seat, head an inch from the dash.

“SA—”

The dim surroundings of Sampson’s bar spread out on either side of Tyler. This night has yet to happen. The sheer strength just shifting beneath every tiny movement is clear to Sam. Hunger churning, thirst burning the back of his throat—but it’s Tyler’s hunger. The vampire’s thirst. Head turning, Tyler looks down the bar to Sam and Dean, sat together, hands entwined.

Envy and lust join, mixing with Tyler’s base needs as he stares at Sam and Dean.

“SAM!” Dean’s yelling and holding Sam by his shoulders. Sam’s head is lolling forwards.

Blinking his eyes open, Sam tilts his head back and looks into Dean’s terrified green eyes. Temple throbbing, Sam gives Dean a weak smile, hoping his brother isn’t about to put two and two together. _One revelation in a lifetime would be good_ , Sam thinks sadly, enjoying how close Dean is right now.

“Hey,” Sam says, throat dry.

Gritting his jaw, Dean curses under his breath and glares at Sam, the questions come tumbling out. “Are you… Do you… Are your powers back? Are you having visions again? Is there more going on than that?”

_Two and two_. Letting out a long breath, Sam nods and regrets the movement. “Yes.”

“Yes to what?” Dean asks calmly.

“Yes… to all of it.”

Dean nods, like Sam had confirmed something he’d suspected. “What’s the more going on?”

Swallowing, Sam wishes he had a glass of water as his mouth feels even drier. “Telekinesis… and apparently, after yesterday, psychometry.”

“That’s when you see things from touching stuff, right?” Dean leans closer, eyes scanning every facet of Sam’s face.

“Pretty much. Thought I saw the past back at the waterpark, yesterday.” The pain in Sam’s head intensifies and he winces. “Listen, get me some Advil or something, please.”

Dean pulls the glove compartment open and pulls out a bottle of pills. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Sam shakes out several pills and swallows them dry, making a face at the taste.

“You _drinking_ demon blood?”

_I was wondering when we’d get to that_. “No.”

Dean holds Sam’s gaze.

“I swear I’m not drinking demon blood again… It’s why I’m so—”

“Exhausted,” Dean finishes, though he doesn’t sound completely convinced. “How long?”

Cheeks dimpling, Sam has to look away from Dean’s scrutinizing stare. _It’s a firesale and everything must go_. Nothing that has happened in the past day makes Sam want to tell Dean the answer to this. Less so because everything is on the table now and Sam doesn’t want it to slip away. _I was worried. I didn’t know how to tell you. Didn’t want you to look at me like you used to. When you weren’t sure you’d have to kill me a month, a week, a day from now_.

“I dunno.”

“ _Sam_.”

Sam feels like he’s nine again and been caught sneaking cookies in the middle of the night. _No more secrets. No more hiding. You can do this_. “Since… Gadreel.”

Silence greets Sam.

“It wasn’t much at first. But it’s been getting stronger. The visions have been more frequent since Lucifer poked around.” Sam laughs bitterly. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Whistling out a breath, Dean backs off and slumps a little in his seat. “Why are you sorry?”

“I… I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.” Sam’s hands are on his door handle and he’s getting out of the Impala.

“Wait, Sammy.” Dean climbs out of the car.

Sam turns around and struggles against the tears he wants to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell have you got to be sorry about? You had _no control_ ,” Dean’s pain is written clear on his face, “over what Gadreel did to you.”

_No, but I could have stopped you. Could have stopped the Stynes. Could have known it was Lucifer riding around in Cas_.

“I could have—” the full weight of the truth hits Sam and sends him to his knees. The tears are there and he doesn’t care that he’s in the middle of the parking lot by the sheriff’s office.

“Sam?” Dean asks quietly, crouching down beside him and places a hand on Sam’s right shoulder.

“I should have known what Lucifer had done… That it was him sending me those visions,” Sam whispers. “If I’d just seen what was going to happen. I could have saved Cas. Could have sensed what he would do.”

Dean’s hand grips him tighter. “You can’t blame yourself for not seeing the future,” Dean says hoarsely.

“But I can—” Sam winces as his temple continues to throb with pain, “blame… myself for being so scared of telling you… so worried about hiding… that…” Sam sucks in a breath and shakes his head. _I’m a coward_.

Dean pulls in a deep breath—ignoring the way his heart is trying to break and his fist wants to collide with Sam’s face and knock some sense into him. Instead, Dean pulls Sam to his feet. “We can’t stay here,” Dean looks around and hopes no one’s seen this, “let’s head back to the waterpark and see if we can pick up something there.” _Yeah, stick to the case, Dean, just stick to the case, don’t think about how maybe we’d had a goddamn chance to stop Cas_.

Stiffening in Dean’s arms, Sam gives Dean a look that tells him he’s holding something back.

“Christ, what now?” Dean half-barks.

Sam flinches in his arms, and Dean mentally kicks himself.

“I… I think I know who the vamp already is. We’re not gonna find him at the waterpark.”

Dean gets Sam to the passenger side of the car and helps him back in. Left hand on the roof, Dean quirks his head and frowns. “Well, who is it?”

Sam licks his lips. “Tyler. That guy who flirted with me the first night we were in town. At the bar.”

“Well, if it is him, he didn’t fall for us last night.”

Bitterness wells up in Dean. He doesn’t want to be dealing with the case, Sam having powers again— _maybe even drinking demon blood_ —and whatever this is between them. _Because it is all kinds of not right_. That Dean has a feeling of unworthiness snaking its way through him, snarling around him with bunched up knots that makes his heart ache, isn’t something he’s going to tell Sam right now.

“There’s been more than a few days between each of the kills. We… need to go to the bar again tonight. Convince him we’re the best pick.” Sam lounges against the seat.

“Why not track him during the day? See who knows him?”

Sam shrugs. “He’ll know we’re on to him. He might run or worse.”

“What can be worse?”

Dean can’t help tracking the way Sam swallows before he replies.

“Worse? Serial killers, normally, when they know law enforcement is on to them? They escalate. So more bodies. Easier to track, as they become more chaotic and erratic, but there will be more victims too.” Sam looks up at Dean and gives him a grim smile.

“Look, I can’t sit around all day and do nothing.” Dean shifts and closes the door. Stepping around the Impala he gets into the driver’s seat.

“We could at least confirm my serial killer theory… Charlie showed me a way into ViCAP once. We could check information from the recent deaths against information on there. See who else he might have killed.”

Dean starts up the ignition and shifts the Impala out of park. “You can do that. I’ll make sure we’re ready to kill this asshole.” _Keep busy_ , Dean tells himself, not wanting to really deal with what’s been revealed to him in less than a day.

Sam slumps deeper into the seat. “Right.” A huge yawn works its way out of him.

“But first we’re gonna get you more fuel.”


	7. Chapter 7

There’s a jar of dead man’s blood in the room’s refrigerator and Dean hates that there’s some dead person’s blood in their refrigerator. Just because he’d been a hunter for decades didn’t mean he was okay with everything about the job. Sam’s not said anything in at least thirty minutes and it’s beginning to creep Dean out. The room’s filled with the sound of Dean sharpening their machetes, but it’s not the same as friendly conversation. They’re heading back to Sampson’s bar in thirty and Dean is having a difficult time getting his head in the game.

Sam’s sudden presence at his back sends the blade in Dean’s hand clattering to the floor. A shaky breath from Sam makes Dean rocket to his feet and pivot to face Sam, push his chair out of the way. Tears are already glistening in Sam’s eyes, the weight of something terrible sat clearly on his shoulders.

“Sammy?” Dean asks, voice breaking a little.

Lips trembling, Sam looks at a spot somewhere past Dean’s left cheek. “If… I’m right. He’s killed five other couples, but they were when he wasn’t a vamp.”

“So eight couples… sixteen people? How the hell hasn’t he been caught yet?”

“No DNA or fingerprint matches. He’s incredibly organized and hasn’t been caught before.” Sam gives Dean a pleading look.

“We’ve dealt with monsters that have killed more…”

The tears fall down Sam’s face and Dean knows there’s something Sam isn’t telling him. Something else. Like the time he almost died back in Superior after he insisted Dean take Jenna and Amara out of there.

“I can’t do this if you’re keeping more secrets from me, Sam. What’s one more thing out in the open?”

“Let… me… have this one?” Sam asks, tears not stopping.

_I’m going to regret this_. “Fine.”

Sam surges forward. The lips suddenly on Dean’s are unexpected, but welcome. Wetness brushing over his own cheeks, Dean lets Sam take what he needs, hoping it’s at least a salve to whatever else is going on with him right now.

At first refusing to enjoy what Sam is giving him, Dean mellows as Sam starts stroking the back of his head. The kiss becomes a series of small ones, pressed to Dean’s lips and jaw, his cheeks—nose. Sam is worshipping him with a tenderness that Dean had only guessed to be there. Glimpsed when Sully had shown up in what seemed like a million years ago.

But Dean does not open himself to the full revelation that is Sam Winchester. Doesn’t contemplate—as soft lips spike desire through him—all Sam has said in the past day and what it means. The things Sam could have done to alter their path.

Somehow Sam’s maneuvering Dean to his bed and then they’re falling on it, Sam on top of him. Body trembling over Dean’s as he cages him in and kisses sweetly at Dean’s neck.

“Sam...”

Sam nuzzles at Dean’s neck. “We need this,” he whispers against Dean’s skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

No argument forms on Dean’s lips, but— _you’re sick and wrong. No son of mine_. John’s words echo through Dean’s thoughts and he tries to shake them off. _We’re not hurting anyone_ , Dean tells himself, fiercely attempting to believe what Sam said.

Dean seizes his brother’s face in his hands and pulls him down into a kiss. Lips still unfamiliar and needing to be known. Licking his way into Sam’s mouth, Dean tastes the fruit and vegetable smoothie he had an hour ago, kale mixing with kiwi. Sam sighs contentedly and lets Dean roll them over so Dean’s on top instead. They’re both hard, but Dean’s happy to leave it at just this. They kiss deep and slow. Wetly. It’s almost perfect and Dean doesn’t want this to end, the years of longing stretching out behind him.

Finally, Dean breaks away, catching his breath. He stares down into Sam’s blown pupils and grins.

“Date night?” Dean asks, letting his cockiness hide everything else he’s experiencing right now.

***

The evening so far sees Sampson’s with half of the patrons that seemed to normally gather there. Stepping up to the bar and letting his surroundings fill his senses, Sam can tell why: air charged like blood will be spilled. Casually tilting his head, Sam catches Tyler’s eye and smiles nervously. Like prey that doesn’t know it’s already wandered into a predator’s maw. Sam pulls at the bottom of his plaid shirt, nerves showing a little and tries to draw comfort from the weight of the machete clipped to the inside of the jacket he holds in his hand.

Dean orders and pays for two beers and a big basket of hot wings before placing a hand possessively on Sam’s hip. If the circumstances had been different, Sam can imagine letting himself enjoy this—Dean showing people who Sam now belongs to. In the present, however, Sam has to keep himself vaguely aware of Tyler’s hungry gaze and actively avoid the thoughts that keep trying to tell him that Dean’s gonna tire of this after the case.

Dean steers the two of them into a booth and sits them on opposite sides. Their legs and feet bump against each-other under the table. The bartender brings their drinks and food over and Sam starts to pick at the wings. They keep their voices low as they talk.

“I’ve been thinking… I still don’t get why you don’t need demon blood for all,” Dean waves a sauce covered hand in Sam’s direction, “this.”

Sam sucks in a breath, gut aching like he’s been punched. “I never _needed_ the blood. The blood was a placebo to get me to use my powers, but also a way of…” considering _his_ current topside residence, it’s hard for Sam to say his name, “preparing my body so Lucifer could use me as a vessel. Plus it was addictive. It was like...” Sam feels bitter at the thought, “keeping a prostitute strung out on heroin or meth so she’d keep working.”

Wincing as he nods, Dean picks up another wing and asks, “How’d you…?”

“Something… Ruby said before I killed her. That I’d “had it” in me “the whole time” and that I hadn’t needed the demon blood to do what I’d done. To use my powers.” Sam tilts his head just so and notes Tyler’s taken up a bar side seat, sitting sideways so he can watch them. “Look, can we talk about something else.”

“Only..if.. you eat more,” Dean says while stripping the meat from a wing, teeth audibly snapping along bone.

Rolling his eyes, Sam finally starts to gnaw and bite at the hot, slick piece of chicken, sauce covering his fingers and face. The sauce burns pleasantly and tastes pretty good, but it’s more Dean’s kind of food than Sam’s. Finishing that wing, Sam picks up another and catches Tyler watching him. Pretending not to notice Tyler, Sam makes a show of eating the wing, tongue whipping out as he sucks and licks the sauce off.

Movement draws Sam back to Dean and he watches his brother shift in his seat. The blush that rises to Dean’s cheeks calls to Sam and he finishes his wing. Sloppily tearing the meat off and dumping the bones, Sam wipes his hands on a napkin and stands.

Getting out of his side of the booth, Sam walks over to Dean’s side and crowds in against Dean.

“Now just—” Dean’s protest is cut off as Sam forces his mouth over Dean’s and cups the back of his head. Pressing the side of his body flush against Dean’s, Sam demands entrance into his brother’s mouth and is granted it. Tongues swiping together, Sam tastes beer and hot sauce. Dean places a hand on Sam’s thigh, near his crotch, and squeezes, making Sam whimper quietly.

It’s a little unclear how Sam wants to play this, but as this make-out session continues, Dean gets the feeling that he wants them to look all wired up and that going outside in a while will be the most natural thing. Head to the Impala and look like they’re going for a quickie. That kind of deal.

Sam shifts his hand away and Dean pulls back. “Okay… food first and _then_ …” Dean says a little louder than he would normally, making sure Tyler hears them with his vampire hearing.

“Fine,” Sam says with a hint of resentment in his voice like he dislikes being babied.

They work their way through the rest of the wings in the basket and Dean tries not to think about how he’s just made out with his brother in public. Again. Finishing their food, they each take a few mouthfuls of beer before cleaning up with napkins and wet wipes. Acting like the eager couple that wants to get out and fuck like crazy in the parking lot—furtive glances, fast breathing, constant touching—they head out into the parking lot behind the bar.

Dean steals a kiss from Sam as they come to stop about six feet from the Impala. The two of them reach into the insides of each other’s jackets, finding the machetes held in place. To an onlooker it would just look like they were getting a little handsy.

Swinging apart from each other, machetes raised, Dean’s eyes bug out in shock as he sees Tyler being restrained in a choke hold by some— _well it has to be_ —female vampire. Black hair, brown eyes and surprisingly tan skin underneath her deep brown leather jacket, plaid shirt and jeans.

“No, Tyler, no more!” hisses the female vamp.

Tyler struggles in her arms. “They’re mine! Let go of me!”

Dean takes a step forward, but stops as the female vamp whips out a hypodermic needle and injects something into Tyler’s neck. A broken scream from Tyler tells Dean he’s been injected with deadman’s blood. Out of the corner of this eye, he sees Sam twisting around beside him.

“Wait a min—” Dean starts, but is cut off as something hard and heavy hits the back of his skull and blackness pulls him down to the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

“They’re hunters! We need to kill them,” whispers a man. _Vampire?_ Sam wonders. _Damnit! Where’s Dean?_

Sam slowly opens his eyes, head throbbing. Water is sloshing about underneath the structure he’s in. He can’t see who’s talking, only the rotting, wooden slats of an old boat house as he stares up from the dusty wooden floor. Moonlight filters in through openings near the roof. The rope tying his arms behind his back is tight and his ankles are also bound. He doesn’t move, choosing to eavesdrop, quietly shivering from the cold as he does.

“We are not Tyler!” hisses a woman’s voice that sounds like the vamp from the parking lot. _Vampires_ , Sam concludes. From the way she says they’re not like Tyler, Sam understands that they probably don’t kill humans for food either.

Sam tests the rope around his ankles but the knot is too secure.

“But _they’re hunters!_ ”

“We are going to handle our damn business and then get the hell out of here. We’re gonna leave them be, Reg, no point spilling their blood and having a bunch more of them head on after us. Anyway, it’s not like we leave a goddamn trail of bodies in our wake. Nothing for them to track.”

A loud “humpf” comes from the male vampire and floorboards creak as he walks out of the shed.

“I know you’re awake,” says the female vampire. The floor shifts under Sam as the vampire pads over to him.

Sam rolls over—jacket opening a little, letting the cold creep in more—and he looks up at the vampire. She frowns as she looks down towards Sam. Sam stares back, but out of his peripheral he looks for something he can use to remove his bonds.

“Where’s... Lance?” Sam was about to say Dean.

“Your partner is… around.” The vampire crouches down beside him. “I’m sorry about Tyler.”

“I want to see Lance,” Sam says in a voice that’s far calmer than he feels.

“We’ll take care of Tyler.” The look of sincerity the female vampire gives Sam tells him that she believes that, but Sam knows better.

“You won’t take care of Tyler. I know you won’t kill him.”

“We—”

“I know you can’t control him. You made him and you didn’t even realize what he is. Minting yourself a serial killer? Pretty stupid fucking move,” Sam bites out. “Where is Lance?”

“He’s fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Sam catches sight of a rusty saw wheel ten feet from him.

The vamp shakes her head and stands up. “Well at least Tyler was right about you having a one-track mind. Look, we’re gonna leave town. We’ll send somebody your way once we’re out of your hair.”

“He’s going to kill again.”

“We’ll keep watch over him.”

Sam lets out an exasperated sigh. “ _It’s not enough_.”

“It’s going to have to be. I made this mess, I—”

“I get it, you’re trying to be the noble vampire, or whatever. That you don’t kill humans. _But he does_. If it’s not for his thirst, it’s so he can fill the… void that the killing fills. You will never be able to stop that drive, that need… The _thirst_ never goes away.”

The vampire rolls her eyes. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience… But I don’t care. We’re leaving. You won’t find us again.” The vampire turns and walks away from Sam towards a set of large, open doors set in the side of boathouse.

Sam watches the doors close. The second they are shut, he starts rolling across the floor towards the saw wheel. Feeling dizzy from the movement and the ache of whatever hit him earlier, Sam takes a moment to let the room stop spinning. World righting itself just a tiny bit, Sam carefully gropes for the blade with his hands.

Trying to remember when he last had a tetanus shot, Sam gingerly picks up the blade, sits up and starts to awkwardly rub it against the rope around his wrists. _This would be so much easier if I’d been practicing how to use my… powers with more… finesse_ , Sam thinks bitterly. Of course he hadn’t been practicing how to use them, because he’d always been too busy hiding them.

Finally the first strand gives away and the rest quickly follow. Hands free, Sam drops the old saw wheel and bends to untie his ankles. Completely mobile, he gets up and looks into the gloom of the boatshed, the moonlight still pouring in.

“Dean!” Sam calls into the gloom. The boards creak under Sam’s feet, but he gets no reply as he calls his brother’s name again and listens.

A moan comes from somewhere to Sam’s left and he heads into the shadows. Stepping carefully, he finally sees the dark outline of Dean. Rushing over, Sam kneels down beside Dean and unties the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. Dean moans again as he begins to come round.

“Sammy, you okay?” Dean asks, voice shaky.

Helping Dean sit, Sam can’t see enough to properly check Dean over. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Tyler, the other vamps—”

“Not long gone. I need to check you out and then we’ll start tracking them.”

Dean shakes his head and Sam can almost hear him wince. “No, we need to go after them _now_.”

Sighing, Sam helps Dean up and they stumble from one side of the boatshed to the other. Opening the doors the vamps left through, Sam looks around into the nighttime gloom to see if there’s any sign of them. As he suspected there’s none, but they do find where the vamps had stashed their machetes, handguns and cells. The dead man’s blood is gone, understandably.

Checking his cell to see if he could tell where they are, Sam finds he has no service.

“No service,” Dean says as he looks at his cell.

Stowing his cell and gun, but keeping his machete in-hand, Sam grits his teeth a moment. _I need to do this_. “It’s fine, I can… find the way back to the Impala.”

“How? You having visions about it?”

Letting out a calming breath, Sam shakes his head. “How do you... How do you think I found you, after the Darkness? When you weren’t in the Impala?” Sam starts walking in the direction he _feels_ he needs to go.

“I thought—”

“You were over a mile from the car, but it didn’t take me long to find you.”

Hesitant footsteps follow after Sam as Dean catches up. “Then why couldn’t you just do that to find Tyler?”

“Easier when there’s a personal connection. Doesn’t drain me anywhere near so much.”

“The car’s not even yours.”

Sam shrugs and keeps walking. “We’ve been through _alot_ together.” Sam stops. Closing his eyes, he pulls at the thread that connects him to the car.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks from Sam’s left.

“It’s this way.” Sam opens his eyes and adjusts his course slightly more to his right. “I probably could do it for other things, other people, but it’d take a lot of practice, training and more Mountain Dew than I’m willing to drink in an entire year.”

Dean’s bowed legs find it a little difficult to keep up with Sam’s long strides as he powers towards a wooded area. “Why didn’t you practice?”

“Uh, because I was too busy hiding all of this from you. Ignoring that I had powers. Burying my head in the sand,” Sam snarks back, pushing a tree branch out of the way—and maybe he does let that tree branch swing towards Dean.

Dodging the branch, Dean mentally kicks himself for asking Sam like that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… Y’know?”

“I know,” Sam replies, but doesn’t sound convinced.

Dean steps over a fallen log and tries to think of a way he can make this better. “When the case is over, I’ll help you practice. Help you… get stronger, if that’s what you want.” It’s a little difficult for Dean to believe he’s saying that, but stranger crap’s happened over the past day.

Sam looks over his shoulder at that and Dean sees the whites of Sam’s eyes in the gloom. “You seriously would?”

“Not like you’re on demon blood again, right? Might… give us an extra edge.” And the more Dean considers it, having Sam able to use his powers without collapsing could be pretty handy. “Hey, how come you didn’t use this to… find me when I was a demon?”

Laughing quietly, Sam shakes his head and keeps on walking. “Oh, I tried.”

“How come it didn’t work?” Dean asks.

“Each time I tried, I passed out and got nothing. There wasn’t enough you that I had… a connection to, left to track. The connection with the car was kinda dependent on you too.” Sam speeds up, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation is going.

Dean tries to change the topic. “So what we gonna do with these vamps?”

“I got the feeling that the two that got the jump on us aren’t big drinkers, but the fact of the matter is they made Tyler.”

“So take them all out?” “Yeah,” is Sam’s listless reply.

_Really need to do something about his energy levels_ , Dean thinks to himself

***

It takes them an hour of solid walking, but they finally break through the treeline and reach the road that runs alongside Sampson’s Bar. The place is shut down for the night, but the Impala is clearly visible in the parking lot. Nothing on the road, they jog across it and get into the car.

Next job was finding Tyler, Reg and the leader, but Sam’s abilities weren’t going to help there. Though Dean could swear that Sam seemed pretty confident about meeting up with Tyler again and every time he tried to ask Sam about it on the way back to the motel, Sam dodged the question.

They didn’t need to wait long for a clue; a few hours later, as dawn was breaking, Sheriff Collins phoned Dean.

“Yeah, one of my deputies found ‘em thirty minutes ago while patrolling the waterpark,” Sheriff Collins informs Dean over speaker phone. “Only this time, the pair of ‘em had their heads cut off and set beside their bodies. No bites either.”

“They posed again?” Sam asks.

“Yep, same as the others. All intimate like.”

“Then it’s our guy. Alright if we come and take a look before the bodies are removed?”

The sheriff huffs out a laugh. “Knock yourselves out. I’ll be waiting.”

The call disconnects and Dean stows his cell. Not wasting anytime getting into their fed suits, they sort out their fake IDs and machetes, grab some more dead man’s blood, and head on out back to the waterpark. Dean’s managed to get some cereal into Sam and some coffee since they got back from their night time walk. But as Dean catches Sam out of the corner of his eye while they make their way back to the park, Dean wonders if Sam is going to collapse on him again. Sam can’t stop leaning against the window.

_Poor kid’s exhausted_ , Dean realizes as he turns off the main road and onto the track that leads to the side of the park they need. <,p>“I’ll be fine,” Sam stutters out and then yawns.

“I didn’t say anything,” Dean replies, frowning.

“You were,” Sam yawns again, “thinking it.”

_Oh boy_. “You just concentrate on staying upright for when we talk to the sheriff,” Dean replies, still frowning.

The flashing lights of the sheriff’s team aren’t hard to spot, and Dean parks up beside them. It’s six in the morning and Dean wishes they could just go and get breakfast, but he gets out of the Impala and gets ready to act like a fed. A fed that’s after a vamp’s head.

“Agent Bean, over here!” calls Sheriff Collins. Dean starts walking towards him.

Stepping out of the car, Sam stifles a yawn and closes his door. It’s still cold and he rubs his hands together as he follows Dean towards the sheriff who’s at the edge of the crime scene. Despite the low light, Sam feels like everything around him is getting clearer, sharper. He can see more details than he would normally.

The dawn chorus in the nearby woods grates along Sam’s nerves and a pressure builds in his head. _It’s like the other morning, but this is stronger... But it’s not a vision, not psychometry, what… is this?_ Sam ponders as he tries to follow Dean and look sort of normal at the same time. It’s hard to act normal when you can hear every single heartbeat within a mile radius.

“So like I said over the phone, heads have been taken clean off. But you know what’s funny? We can’t place time of death,” Collins says as they reach the latest victims.

Reg and the female vamp are laid out like a couple holding each other in the night, the female vamp in Reg’s arms. They’re naked and their heads are several feet away from their necks, facing each other. Portable floodlights light the scene while a generator turns over not far away.

Listening to Collins and Dean talk, Sam feels like he’s hearing everything twice. In a weird stereo surround sound. Wincing, Sam looks around the scene, feeling like he’s being watched by more than just the few deputies and forensics team members who are there.

“Same killer, right?” Collins asks in a mockery of hope, clearly wanting to be sure that it’s the same sicko as far as they’re all concerned.

Sam nods. “Looking at the bodies,” Reg and the female vamp are lifeless at Sam’s booted feet, “I think we’re dealing with the same unsub. Beheading is a little different, but we haven’t released any of the other details to the press, so it’s unlikely to be a copycat.”

“Is it weird that I think that’s good news? You got any suspects to share yet?” Collins asks, a touch impatient.

Dean flashes a smile. “Our profile is almost done.”

“I hope you have it ready _soon_. Well, the coroner will be here in a few. I’m going to get some breakfast. Agents.” Collins nods to them and leaves the scene.

The second Collins is out of earshot, Sam lunges a hand towards Dean as he fights to remain on his own two feet.

“Woah there, Bill.”

Sam’s not sure how he knows this, but he does. “Tyler’s watching us right this second.”

Dean holds onto Sam a little tighter as he looks around. “You’re sure?”

_Everything is too clear…_ Sam winces again. “It’s like I’m getting bleedthrough from his senses or something. Seeing and hearing things in the way he does.” Dean’s heartbeat is as clear as the dawn chorus. Sam shakes his head a little, as if that would make the experience any better.

“Okay. Okay… he’s here somewhere… Why didn’t you get this at the bar?”

“He’ s watching us right this second… and I don’t know Dean… probably because it doesn’t have the same… _emotional connection_ for him? Can we not waste time on profiling the vamp right now!”

“Sorry.”

Sam lets Dean look around them, trying to spot somewhere Tyler could be hidden.

“You getting anything specific?” Dean asks.

Trying to narrow his focus, Sam feels for the source. There’s something further into the park. “Twelve o’clock,” Sam whispers.

Dean nods and leads the way.


	9. Chapter 9

The gutted skeleton of a former waterslide towers around them. It doesn’t take Dean and Sam long to find themselves out of sight of the investigative team as they walk deeper into former waterpark. Left and right are the rusting metal struts and pillars that once held up flumes and slides. Dean doesn’t know exactly where they’re going, but the more they walk, the more Dean feels like he should be putting himself between Sam and Tyler. He’s not scared, but he decides that he doesn’t want the events of last night to repeat themselves.

An old trash can, shaped like a leaping dolphin, tumbles over and the dolphin’s beak breaks off, the vacuum-formed plastic crumbling easy. The dawn chorus is gone and Dean holds out a hand to signal they stop. Heat radiates from Sam at his back, and Dean’s eyes scan the twisted, crumbling remains of slides, pools and ladders for any sign of Tyler. The slightest hint of movement.

“He still here?” Dean whispers.

Sam’s breath stirs the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck. “Yeah… he hasn’t moved. Twenty feet from us now.”

Dean and Sam pull their machetes out in unison and begin to creep forward. Tyler appears to be hiding in the remains of an ice cream stand.

Holding a hand up again as they reach the stand, its insides covered in shadow, Dean and Sam stop. Dean clears his throat.

“I know you’re in there, Tyler. Come out.”

“Dean—”

“What, Sam—” Dean stops talking then as Tyler comes out from the back of the stand, a young woman clutched in his arms, mouth gagged. Her blue eyes show pure panic and she looks to have been roughed up, black hair all over the place, jeans and shirt ripped.

“I figure you won’t be needing those right now,” Tyler says, voice smooth and confident as he gestures towards their machetes. The vampire’s eyes keep flicking over to Sam, and Dean does not like the way that Tyler keeps looking over to his brother, lustful hunger clear in the vamp’s gaze.

“You do have us at a disadvantage, I’ll give you that. But there’s no way we’re dropping these blades,” Dean replies.

“Let her go,” Sam says, taking a step away from Dean.

Tyler shakes his head and holds the woman closer. “No, she’s my ticket out of here in one piece.”

“Why hang around the scene, Tyler? What were you hoping for here?” Sam asks, staying at Dean’s side.

“Just a bit of fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Got places to be and all that crap.” Tyler begins to back away, taking the woman with him. “Don’t follow me, or I’ll gut her before you can even take a swing.” His promise sounds genuine.

Rudy’s face swims up from the depths of Dean’s memories and he tenses. “Fine.”

Sam gives Dean a desperate look, but Dean shakes his head.

“Good boys.” Tyler disappears back around the ice cream stand.

Of course they’re going to follow the asshole. So they wait.

“Can you still… I dunno, picking up his signal?”

“Nothing for like… two minutes,” Sam replies.

A black bird’s song pipes up and Dean steps forward and Sam follows. They circle the ice cream stand from opposite sides and find the woman roped up and gagged.

Bending down beside her, Dean reaches towards the woman and pulls out the wad of filthy fabric in her mouth.

“Wait, Dean!” Sam cries and then Dean’s being gripped from behind as Sam pulls him away from the woman, who’s gnashing at the air that Dean had just been occupying. Her vampire teeth are many and deadly.

The vampire hisses and thrashes in her bonds. “Drink!” She yells.

Sam clears his throat. “Have you fed yet?”

The pout his question elicits tells them that she hasn’t.

“Well, at least I now get why I couldn’t hear her heartbeat...” Sam mutters and shakes his head.

“Damnit!” Dean kicks at the cracked tiles at their feet. “Well now we definitely need to get that bastard so we can cure her!”

***

The anger curling through Dean charges the air and leaves Sam feeling uneasy as they finally drop off the newly minted vampire at the boatshed they had been previously held in. Sneaking her past the sheriff’s team had proven a little awkward, but they’d managed it by circling the Impala over to an alternative entrance. The gag had gone back in her mouth, which Sam regretted but knew was necessary if they were going to stay safe and undetected.

Guilt sits inside Sam like a leaden weight. If he’d just come clean about his suspicions regarding Tyler a lot sooner, Sam knows they’d have this case wrapped by now. _But I had to hold onto the illusion that keeping Dean out of my freak show was for the best. Face it you’re an idiot and should have said something sooner_.

“So what now?” Dean asks, knuckles tense, jaw gritted.

They had no clear lead on where Tyler had run off to. But Sam had felt the vampire’s keen interest in him and his brother, maybe they could still draw him in?

“There’s no way he’s still in town, we should,” Dean glances at the female vamp, who they’ve found no ID on, “just _cut_ our losses and leave.”

“Tyler’s gonna keep on killing, we need to stop him.”

“But we need to find the asshole first!”

Sam starts walking away from Dean and the vamp. Starts pacing along the floorboards. _Would he come after us again? Or is his curiosity spent? Probably wouldn’t like the idea of his prey getting away…_

“We’re still his prey. He still wants us. He has our—” _scent_ , Sam was about to say.

Thunder rolls through Sam’s skull and he crashes to his knees, the floorboards groaning with the sudden impact. A cabin sparks into his vision and Sam sees himself, backing away from Tyler; his own fear stinks the air and Sam shivers in his nakedness. But in amongst all that he feels the sweet elation of hope. He’s not dead in this vision. He has a chance. Back reaching a wooden wall covered in a tapestry, Sam sees a window and down through it he sees the distant top of the tallest slide from the waterpark.

A hand touches his shoulder, his actual shoulder, and Sam feels like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice cold water as he comes back to himself. Coughing and hacking, breaths hard to take. Dean’s worried eyes meet his as he crouches in front of Sam.

“What did you see?” Dean asks quietly.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Sam blinks, traces of the vision still bleeding into his present thoughts. “He’s got a cabin, uhhh, north side of the waterpark, must be… a mile. Up some hill in the treeline.”

“Anything else?”

 _He’s about to try and kill me_. “No, that’s it. We should hurry.” Sam glances back over Dean and at the restrained vamp. “For her sake.” Sam tries to ignore the small sense of growing fear that he feels, because just maybe the vision could still come true.

Dean reaches inside his jacket. “Here,” pulling out an energy bar, Dean hands it to Sam, “you need it.”

Taking the bar, Sam resists the urge to lean forward and kiss Dean. They need to get moving. But Dean catches Sam eying him and there must be something in the way that Sam is looking at his brother, because Dean leans forward and steals a kiss. Light and reassuring. Pulling away, Dean nervously swallows and then gives Sam a smile.

“Eat that and then we’re going to track that asshole down.”

***

Standing beside a dirt road, Sam looks at a map set over the hood of the Impala. They’re to the north of the waterpark. Looking over Sam’s shoulder, Dean frets that there’s something that Sam isn’t telling him. His brother’s shoulders are a little more hunched than usual, like he’s trying to keep a chill out, but it’s actually a pretty pleasant early spring day, the sun warming things just right as far as Dean’s concerned.

“If the info I got from the sheriff’s office is right, then I think we’re looking at the few acres here.” Sam jabs at the map. “Just a short hike.”

“Alright, let’s do this.”

Going to the trunk, Dean pops it and pulls out an ice box. Opening the lid, he pulls out several hypodermic needles filled with dead man's blood. Closing the box, he grabs a few empty hypodermics, a pair of machetes and shuts the trunk. Sam comes to a stop beside him.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice trails off and Dean frowns at him.

“What? We’ve got this. This son of a bitch isn’t killing anyone else.” Dean hands Sam a machete and some of the blood. “C’mon.”

Stepping into the tree line, it only takes them going twenty feet for the road to disappear from view. The trees press in everywhere, elms and green ash towering over them, new leaves beginning to come through. Dean scans the uneven ground, trying to pick up something that might give them a clearer indication of where to head.

Gaze drawn by one particular broken branch, Dean holds out a hand to stop Sam from walking further. Crouching down, Dean studies the way the wood has splintered and how fresh it is. Scanning the surrounding dirt and growth, looking at the wild grass there this way and that, Dean sees a pattern emerging.

“Looks like his,” Dean says, pointing at the faint outline of a boot print. “About the right sorta size for him.”

Sam bends down and looks at where Dean’s pointing. “Looks like it’s the start of a clear trail.”

“Mm-hmm.” Dean stands up. “This way,” Dean says, keeping his voice low.

Creeping up through the trees, it’s another twenty minutes before they finally see a cabin. Staying out of sight as best they can, Dean checks he’s still got his vials of dead man’s blood, patting himself down. Reassured he still has them, Dean tries not to read too much into the tension rolling off of Sam.

“This the place?” Dean asks, checking the edge of his machete.

“I didn’t see it from the outside, but the windows look the same.”

“Okay, well let’s circle round and then go in.” Dean waves his hand and Sam heads in the opposite direction to Dean as they each take separate sides of the cabin.

The porch is unoccupied and the door there seemingly closed up tight. Heading onto the left side of the house, Dean spots the doors to a cellar. He’s not quick enough as a twig snaps behind him and a fist connects with the side of his skull. It’s the fall that knocks him out—head bouncing off of the cellar door, welcoming darkness.

On the other side of the cabin, Sam feels a pull in the pit of his stomach and rushes around to the other side only to be stopped in his tracks as an unconscious Dean lolls against Tyler’s shoulder.

“So you found me.” Tyler grins at Sam.

“Leave… Dean alone,” Sam says, voice hardly showing restraint.

“So it’s Dean, huh, not Lance? Interesting.”

Sam’s cheeks dimple as he tries to keep calm. The way Tyler has Dean, there’s a dozen things the vamp could do to his brother before Sam even has the chance to get close enough.

Tyler licks his lips. “How about we head inside for a chat?”

 _I can still change this. Still make everything alright. The vision doesn’t have to happen_. “Fine.”

Backing away from Sam, Tyler starts leading the way to the rear cabin door. Casually as he can, Sam opens the side of his jacket. Walking and concentrating at the same time is hard, but slowly Sam manages to pull on one of the hypodermics he had stowed in his own jacket. Tendrils of thought wrapping around the inanimate object, Sam frees the hypodermic and lets its cap come off.

“What in the actual—” Tyler doesn’t get to say any more than that as he spots the floating needle. With a finesse and level of precision Sam never thought he’d be capable of, he sends the needle flying towards Tyler’s neck. A howl works its way out of the vampire as Sam focuses on pushing the plunger down and sending the dose of dead man’s blood into the vamp.

An inhuman snarl snaps out of Tyler and he drops Dean as his body weakens. Sending a rush of control towards Dean, Sam manages to slow Dean’s fall and lay him softly onto the ground. Tyler falls to his knees beside Dean’s prone body.

Muscles shaking with the effort of what he’s done, what he’s doing, Sam drags himself towards the howling, quaking, fallen body of Tyler, feet heavy and unwilling. Machete held tight in his right hand, Sam reaches Tyler and points the blade at Tyler’s throat. <,p>“How many… how many dead?” Sam demands.

Bloodshot eyes stare back up at him. “What… the hell are… you?”

“I’m the one asking the questions! How many have you killed?!” Sam demands again, voice edged with command.

“T—thirty, excluding Charlotte and Reg,” Tyler gasps, clearly in pain.

Sam towers over Tyler, gaze filled with fury as he stares down at the vampire. “Why?” Sam demands in a voice that cannot be disobeyed.

“Be—cause, they needed it. Need—ed to be. I enj—” But Tyler doesn’t get to finish as Sam swings his machete through the air and Tyler’s neck, taking the vampire’s head off in one clean cut. Tyler’s head bounces across the grassy ground, body falling in a heap beside Dean.

Strength fled, Sam crashes to his knees. Hands shaking, he just about manages to check Dean’s still breathing before he passes out, body sheltering Dean’s.


	10. Chapter 10

Everything aches. _I’m getting too old for this crap_ , Dean thinks to himself as he checks that he has control of all of his limbs, testing with small movements. Eyes still closed, just in case something is still out there. But all around him are the sounds of nature. Nothing that sounds like a vampire that’s about to rip his throat out. He feels the warmth of another body against his front and smells the zingy apple scent of Sam’s shampoo.

Dean opens his eyes and is greeted by the back of Sam’s head. Slowly, Dean gets up on one arm and uses his free hand to check Sam’s pulse. He feels his brother’s heart still going, though his breaths are shallower than he would like. Getting into a sitting position, Dean sees Tyler’s decapitated body.

Every part of Dean wants to get Sam off of this hill and back into the Impala, but they still have a job to do. Standing up and ignoring the ache in his limbs from being sprawled awkwardly on the ground, Dean pulls an empty syringe from his jacket, takes the cap off and stumbles over to Tyler’s still body. Jabbing the needle into a space below the vamp’s remaining neck, Dean fills the needle with the vamp’s blood and replaces the needle’s cap.

Stowing the blood, Dean pads back over to Sam and tries to rouse him. Slapping his brother’s face doesn’t work and Dean tries not to worry that there’s more going on here than just sheer exhaustion on Sam’s part. _Time to get practical. There’s no way the car’s getting up here_ , Dean decides looking at the trees surrounding the cabin. _I’ll have to do it the old fashion way, but first…_

Soon Tyler’s body is posed, ready for the police to find their suspect and Dean’s carrying Sam down through the trees in a fireman’s hold. His body screams against the effort, announcing that it’s still not recovered from the Soul Eater, but Dean ignores it. Finally he gets back down to the Impala and manages to open a rear door and slide Sam onto the back seat. Catching his breath for a moment, Dean decides on their next course of action.

***

It’s not that Dean is resentful, but he could have done with Sam’s muscles to help him steal Tyler’s body from the morgue that night. Sheriff Collins had bought everything from having to use Tyler’s weapon against him, to Sam being too exhausted to help wrap the case up. A DNA swab from Tyler would show he was the killer and at least wrap the cases in the town. The woman who had been turned was on her way to a full recovery in their motel room, paid up for as long as the cure would take.

Before hightailing the hell out of dodge, Dean had done some more digging while Sam slept and found a suspicious death at the waterpark some ten years earlier that must have been Tyler, but was before he’d developed his ritual. The waterpark couldn’t recover from the scandal and that’s why it had closed down. _Bastard came back because he felt invincible, thanks to those vamps_ , Dean concluded.

Out on the open road again and heading for the Bunker, Dean feels buzzed from finishing the case. There’s still five hours until they’ll be back and Dean can try and figure out how to wake Sam up. He’s been asleep for over twelve hours now and Dean gets that he must have done something with his powers, but there’s letting Sam rest and then deciding that an intervention is needed.

There’s a groan from the back seat and Sam slowly sits up, face swimming into view in the rearview mirror. “Hey there, sleepy head,” Dean teases, “there’s a bag filled with snacks back there. Eat something. Drink something and then I’ll pull over so you can switch seats.”

“What…” Sam starts clearly confused.

“Heading home Sammy. Now food, water.”

Dean realizes that Sam must really be out of it, because he gets on with following his order without throwing a single bitchface. Even in the rearview mirror, Dean can’t miss the bags under Sam’s eyes and the unhealthy pallor to his skin.

Eyes back on the road, Dean listens as Sam scrabbles around inside the bag and then hears the sound of a water bottle being opened. Sam gasps as he glugs down the bottle, shortly followed by plastic wrappers being torn open as he sets upon the energy and protein bars that Dean had picked up from a gas station.

All this time, Dean’s trying not think about what might happen back at the Bunker. How maybe Sam might decide to end what they have before it’s even had a chance to get started. _Because how could he really want me?_ Dean’s used to being abandoned and he starts building the walls necessary to handle what he knows is going to be another rejection—

“Dean, pull over,” Sam asks quietly. Dean doesn’t say anything, just signals and takes the car off to the side of the road.

Sam climbs out the car and walks round to the front and gets back in. Closing the door beside him, Sam pops the bag of snacks and water down between them. Rubbing his hands on his jeans, Sam can’t help still feeling tired.

“How you feeling?” Dean asks.

“Like I could sleep a week. But I’d settle for a restroom right about now.” Sam’s too tired to stand and pee in the bushes, but he’s not going to tell Dean that.

“There should be one a few miles ahead.”

“Great.” Sam stretches his neck and hears his vertebrae pop.

Dean pulls the Impala back onto the road. Every turn of the tires is a step closer to _home_ and Sam doesn’t want to think about it.

***

The familiar towering concrete bricks of the Bunker’s exterior greet them as Dean manoeuvres the car down and into the garage entrance. A million thoughts are clamoring through Sam’s head. _What do we do now? Does Dean still want me? Is he really going to help me? How soon can we find another case? What do I do about passing out every time I just use these—_

“You coming?” Dean calls from his open car door. Slowly Sam blinks and nods. There’s a tightness to his chest as he steps out of the car, taking in the surrounding vintage vehicles.

Dean chucks Sam his duffel and he catches it between his arms and follows his brother into the Bunker proper. There’s nothing out of place among the darkly painted walls and barren floors. But each step into the Bunker’s belly leaves Sam wanting to take his duffel and head back to Baby. Just get out and not come back.

It doesn’t feel safe. Doesn’t feel like some facsimile of home. The Bunker is a cage that he is giving the illusion of walking into willingly, at least to Dean, but Sam’s mind and body isn’t fooled. Just as they reach his bedroom door, Sam’s pitching towards the wall, bag slipping out of his fingers and getting Dean’s attention.

“Hey, c’mon Sammy, just breathe with me, like this,” Dean takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out, hands on him, “c’mon just like me.”

Mimicking Dean, Sam brings his breathing under control, having not realized he’d been hyperventilating. It takes a while, but gradually Sam’s breathing begins to resemble something like it should.

“That’s great, Sammy,” Dean praises and before Sam knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning into those comforting hands, lips brushing Dean’s and leaving his brother’s mouth trembling. Sam surges forward and pushes Dean against the wall beside his bedroom door. He kisses roughly, trying to reassure himself that Dean is real and that he still wants this— _wants me_ —but also that the Bunker can still be safe.

Warm hands curl over Sam’s back and pull him closer and Dean kisses back with an intensity that leaves Sam grinding against his brother, fattening hard-ons rubbing against each other through their jeans. Heat suffuses him, making Sam pull at his clothes, at Dean’s. Desperate for a level of contact that they’ve not had yet.

Dean kisses along Sam’s jaw. “C’mon, my room.”

“But we’re right outside mine,” Sam whines.

“Your mattress sucks and you probably don’t have any lube.”

Dean’s right. “Fine.”

Letting Dean up from the wall, Sam allows himself be led away and moments later he’s on Dean’s bed, boots off, stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt. Dean carefully lowers himself over Sam, pressing a knee between Sam’s legs, and starts to kiss him. But this slowness isn’t enough. Sam’s got too much room to think and his mind starts to wander from the here and now. Tripping down to Castiel’s hands being buried in his chest as Lucifer grips his soul. Suddenly there’s no weight on top of Sam.

“OW! SAM!” Dean shouts. And when did Sam close his eyes? Opening them, Sam pushes up on his arms and is greeted with Dean kneeling on the bed, rubbing at his face.

“What did—”

“It’s like,” Dean winces, “you punched me. Only you didn’t.”

Sam feels a little light headed and lies back down again. “Sorry… I just…” _I don’t feel safe_.

The mattress beside Sam’s head dips and he looks up at Dean’s concerned face. “Hey, we don’t have to do anything. Look, why don’t we go get something to eat and regroup.”

Nodding in agreement, Sam starts to sit up and then falls back down against Dean’s bed, exhausted. “I… I need a nap first.”

Dean closes his eyes and takes a moment to answer. “Okay,” Dean opens his eyes, “do you—”

“Wanna sleep here with you?” Sam cuts in and holds his arms up towards Dean.

It’s difficult to miss the look on Dean’s face that says “please don’t psychically punch me again”, but as the two of them cuddle up under the covers, Sam does feel a little safer. Tension leaving his body, Sam drifts off to sleep, mind blissfully blank.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey! Missouri,” Dean greets over his cell. Steam wafts up from the coffee maker beside him. It’s eleven at night and Dean is brewing decaf, because he hates himself for wasting an entire day in bed. 

“Hey yourself, Dean Winchester! How damn long do you think it is acceptable to leave between phone calls? Because ten years is _too damn long_.” Okay, so Missouri Moseley had every right to be pissed off with Dean, he can respect that, but he really needs her help. 

“I’m sorry, and we will make a trip out to you as soon as we can—” 

“I think that better be tomorrow you’re coming out to see me. You need information and what you need ain’t the kind I can just share with you over the phone, like mother hens swapping tips on how to handle a colicky baby.” 

“But Missouri, there’s—” 

“And there is always, _always_ , an apocalypse with you two! So do not tell me there is one happening right now. I know your business and you are not going to tell me mine. Now get your asses down here in the morning. I’ll make you brunch.” 

The line goes dead and Dean stares down at his cell like it’s going to jump out of his palm and start shouting at him. 

“Dean?” 

Looking up at to see Sam, just in shorts and a t-shirt, hair mussed up, Dean forgets what he’d just been talking about. There’s just something about a sleepy sasquatch that makes Dean feel like cuddling is something that he should be doing right now. 

“Is that coffee?” Sam asks. He yawns and then raises his long arms above his head. Dean watches his brother stretch, shirt lifting and showing his belly a little. _I’ve got it bad_ , Dean admits to himself. _But does Sam still… want to give things a go?_

“Yeah. Want some?” The coffee maker finally stops spluttering behind Dean. 

“Uh, sure.” 

Dean turns and pulls two mugs out of a cupboard. Reaching out to the coffee pot, he stops as Sam wraps his arms around him from behind. Sam holds him tight, nuzzling at the back of his head, one hand braced on Dean’s shoulder the other on his hip. The doubt Dean was feeling a minute ago vanishes and he gives himself over to Sam’s affection. Standing like this, Dean realizes that Sam currently shows no inclination of letting him go, so Dean tugs them towards the coffee maker. 

“So, um, wanna go on a drive down to Lawrence tomorrow?” Dean queries as he pours decaf into their mugs. 

“What and,” Sam yawns, “go see Missouri?” Dean’s finally freed and Sam picks up his cup of coffee. 

“Yeah, I figured we could ask her about how to keep your batteries charged. She knows about this kind of stuff.” Picking up his own coffee, Dean takes a sip and tries to ignore the off taste that it has for being decaffeinated. 

“Geez, what is this? Decaff?” Sam asks making a face as he takes another sip of his coffee. 

Putting his mug down on the counter, Dean sighs. “I didn’t… I was hoping to go back to bed.” 

“Then let’s go back to bed.” Sam puts down his mug and grasps Dean’s left hand in his right. 

“We need to leave at seven tomorrow morning,” Dean warns. 

Sam drags Dean out of the kitchen. “Then we’ll set an alarm for six. But right now,” Sam lets out a long yawn and Dean can hear his jaw click, “more sleep.” 

***

Sun shining, blue skies as far as the eye can see, Sam tries to stay calm as they pull into Lawrence. They drive past their old house on purpose, but Sam asks that they don’t stop. Just looking at it, Sam knows that Jenny, Sari and Ritchie are all fine—he feels the calm and happiness there, sees flashes of lives well lived. Whatever marks the past could have left on the old house are truly, finally erased, the past only something that they carry in their memories. All of this insight comes with a headache, but Sam believes it’s worth it to know that they definitely did something right. 

Having been half asleep when Dean proposed the trip to Lawrence the previous night, Sam hadn’t been able to fully freak out until the morning. _Because what if she sees what’s happening with us?_ Sam keeps worrying. Or worse: _what if she sees that I hid my real vision of Tyler from Dean?_ Yeah, Sam’s all for finding out how to better deal with his energy levels, but he’s not so sure about being in the presence of another psychic. 

Too soon, Dean’s ringing Missouri’s front door bell and Missouri is opening her front door. Fury paints her face for a few seconds and Sam’s ready for her to screech at them for leaving it too damn long, instead she switches to a smile and shakes her head as if sharing a private joke with herself. She looks almost completely the same as when they last saw her, a few more grays and wrinkles, but the same Missouri Moseley. 

“Well, better late than never, boys,” Missouri greets, smoothing down the sides of her cardigan and stepping to the side. “Don’t just stand there, c’mon inside. Food’s not going to stay hot forever.” Missouri turns and heads into the depths of her house. 

Not looking to argue, Sam and Dean follow after her, closing the front door as they do. There’s no mistaking the smell of freshly cooked omelettes and Sam can already tell which is his as they enter the kitchen. Of course Missouri would know to make him a spinach, mushrooms and cheese omelette. 

Missouri stops in front of her kitchen table and gives the two of them an appraising look. Looking with more than just her eyes. A frown flits across her face for a moment and then she’s suddenly drawing the two of them into a group hug, arms around their waists. Breaking away from the embrace, Missouri heads over to the coffee pot and brings it to the table. 

“Well, sit,” she suggests as she pours them all coffee. Dean and Sam do as they’re told. 

“This looks amazing, Missouri,” Sam says, waiting for Missouri to sit with them. “Thank you for making us brunch.” 

“Why thank you, Sam.” Missouri sits. “Now,” Missouri starts cutting into her own omelette, “while there is a lot I could probably chastise the two of you over, I know you’ve punished yourselves enough.” Missouri takes her first bite and Sam follows. 

Dean lets out a slightly obscene noise as he takes his first bite. Missouri raises an eyebrow at that. 

Missouri picks up her cup of coffee and takes a sip. “But, you two need to stop keeping secrets from each other. Sam, you need to tell Dean why you insisted on staying at Storm Lake even when it looked like that vampire had fled.” 

An icy chill settles along Sam’s back and his omelette tastes like rubber. Awkwardly he swallows and tries not meet Dean’s gaze. 

“Sam?” Dean prompts, putting his knife and fork down. 

Licking his lips, Sam picks up his coffee and takes a drink before putting it down again. _I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t have to tell him about this_. 

“I know you were, Sam, but you two need to stop doing this to each other. Tell Dean what you saw.” 

Meeting Dean’s eyes, Sam huffs out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, letting his bangs fall into his face. “I… I kept having visions of Tyler… while we were at Storm Lake.” 

“Okay… I kinda figured as much.” 

Drawing in a deep breath, Sam shakes his head. “I kept seeing Tyler killing me. They changed with the progress we made on the case… but I knew he was going to try to get to me in Storm Lake.” 

“So you knew we didn’t need to go anywhere else?” 

“Yep.” 

Dean doesn’t look happy at this revelation, but he doesn’t bolt. Doesn’t start shouting. “You could have told me.” 

“I was… I was afraid of telling you anything.” _Didn’t want you thinking that I was a freak anymore than you probably already did_. 

“You’re not a freak, Sam. Okay?” Dean says in a level voice and Sam gives Missouri a confused look. 

“I heard that too… Sam… your powers are all over the place. You got a bit of everything going on.” 

“Wait, heard what?” Dean asks. 

“Heard me think that I’m a freak.” 

“You didn’t say that?” 

Sam shakes his head. 

“Great, so we can add telepathy to the list.” 

Sam’s not sure what to say to that so he concentrates on his omelette. The kitchen is filled with the sound of meals being eaten and coffee being drunk. They all finish their food before anything else is said. 

“The two of you want to know how to keep Sam’s batteries charged, yes?” Missouri asks as Dean starts to help her clear the table. 

“That’s right,” Dean replies. Sam sits solemnly at the table, trying to keep his thoughts to himself. 

“And stop yourself broadcasting like a radio?” Missouri asks as she comes to a stop beside Sam. He looks up at the old family friend and gives her a small smile. “And generally figure what the hell to do with all of this?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well it’s gonna take some discipline and practice. And eating right, but I think we should be able to sort you out. Come on, the dishes’ll wait.” Missouri heads out of the kitchen and they follow after her into the parlor. 

_Place has barely changed_ , Dean decides as they sit down opposite Missouri on the room’s couch. Same dull tans, sparsely set ornaments. It’s not a room for living in, just one for business. An old memory of Missouri working a crochet hook and yarn together, in her living room, comes to mind and Missouri laughs. 

“Yes, I still crochet, Dean.” 

Dean blushes for no reason and recovers himself. “Right, well, what’s Sam gotta do? Can’t have him fainting all the time.” 

“I don’t faint!” 

“You good as do.” Ignoring the bitchface that Sam sends his way, Dean turns to Missouri. “Please teach our young padawan the ways of the Force.” 

Smiling to herself, Missouri straightens up in her chair and focuses on Sam. “First things first: are you into meditation at all?” 

***

Five pots of tea and three plates of cookies later: Sam’s stirring a spoon in a cup of tea without even touching the spoon—and his head feels almost fine. The spoon’s pretty small, but Missouri opened both Dean and Sam to what can be done to maintain and grow his abilities. 

Lifting the spoon out of the cup of tea, Sam fumbles it onto the saucer, making it KLINK loudly against the porcelain. He smiles regardless, head hardly aching at all. Looking up from his tea, he notes Dean looking at him, but he can’t quite place his expression. There’s none of the fear that he use to have when Sam was having visions about Yellow Eyes’ chosen. And then Sam realizes that it’s a look of hope. Something is going their way for once and Dean’s hopeful and happy. 

It’s hard for Sam to recall the last time Dean felt this good about things, but Dean is right now. 

“What?” Dean asks after Sam’s been staring at him a little too long. 

Sam ducks his head and blushes. “Nothing.” 

“Ahem.” Missouri puts her cup down. “Now… I know that there’s… more going on between the two of you than meets the eye. And... I am not gonna judge you for it.” 

Sam pretty much feels the shade of white that Dean turns as Missouri’s words wash over him. His own heartbeat turning a touch erratic, panic crawling up under his skin, Sam nods and tries to figure out what he should say. _But what can I say?_

“Thank you,” Sam manages and lets out a long steadying breath. 

Missouri smiles and shakes her head. “Okay, you two better be heading back to that bunker place you’re living in these days.” Missouri stands. “I’m glad the two of you have an actual roof over your heads… Even if it doesn’t quite feel like home right now.” 

Heading out towards the front porch, afternoon turning into evening, Missouri places a hand on Sam’s shoulder and stops him as Dean walks out towards the Impala parked up on the street. “Sam.” Turning towards Missouri, Sam gives her a thankful smile. “Again, thank you for all of your advice today.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, Sam... I’ve had a peek at what’s heading towards you boys. Towards all of us… And you’re gonna have some tough choices to make.” Missouri squeezes Sam’s shoulder and Sam can’t unsee the wetness in their old friend’s eyes. “But you promise me that you won’t keep your choices from Dean. He might not like ‘em, but he deserves to know.” 

Dread settles over Sam, mind stumbling over what vague choices he may need to make that Dean wouldn’t like. Throat a little tight, he nods. “I promise,” he whispers. 

“Good. Now get out of here and don’t be a stranger!” Missouri lets go of Sam’s shoulder and pats him fondly. 

Walking down to the car, Sam gives Missouri a wave as he gets into the Impala. 

“So what did she want?” Dean asks as Sam settles into the front passenger seat. 

“For the two of us to keep talking, telling each other the truth… And maybe head over for Thanksgiving?” 

“That last one we can probably do. But I gotta say: the former is gonna take a heck of a lot of work,” Dean says as he puts the car into drive and pulls out. 

Sam knows Dean’s right.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiff, yellowing paper yielding no further insights, Dean closes the fifth book he’s looked through today. An entire morning of research and still nothing on what to do about Cas or Amara. The visit to Missouri seemed like it was a month ago, rather than half a week. Stomach rumbling, Dean gets up from his seat, chair scraping along the floor.

Sam jerks in his seat and Dean regrets moving his chair so loudly. He’s not completely blind, he knows Sam’s having a tough time staying in the Bunker at the moment, but this is where all the research is, though if Sam has his way it won’t be for much longer. Between practicing with his powers in Dean’s new training room for psychics; researching Cas and Amara, and looking for fresh cases—Sam’s been slowly creating an electronic archive of all the research materials in the Bunker.

Every second, Sam is distracting himself. Nervous energy keeping thoughts of Dean away, because he feels confused, unsure, because suddenly what they had at Storm Lake—what they admitted to—increasingly seems like it was all just a dream. But then Sam will wander into his room late at night and cuddle up to Dean, so much like he use to when he was a little kid, and with no words he’ll fall asleep again in Dean’s arms.

Then Dean will wake up because the bed is shaking as it hangs in the air a foot above the floor.

_We just need to get Cas back and Sammy’ll be better. He’ll know we’re safe here_ , Dean keeps rationalizing to himself with every book, every scroll, he looks through for ideas about how to bring their buddy back. Not that Dean fully believes his own lie. Sometimes, when he’s in the library, he’ll close his eyes and open them and think he can see the pile of crap the Stynes were going to burn a million years ago.

Fixing some sandwiches in the kitchen, Dean is about to head back into the library with them when Sam comes in.

“Hey, I think I’ve found us a case.”

***

“It’s certainly, uh, home-y,” Sam says as Dean holds open the door to their motel room. The walls are covered in forest green wallpaper and framed pictures of wild flowers. An almost optimistic interpretation of the stretch of National Forest bordering Grangeville, Idaho.

Dean flips Sam a smirk. “You mean, your own Private Idaho?”

Sam favours him with an unimpressed look. “You done pretending you don’t watch those kind of movies?”

“Whatever.”

So far they’d come up with zilch about the werewolf case that had brought them here. Dean takes the bed nearest the door and dumps his things on the floor. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but the change in Sam had been noticeable once they were a few hours out of Lebanon. Straightening up in his seat, shoulders relaxing.

“Beer?” Sam asks, drawing Dean out of his thoughts. His brother’s ass is in the air as he pokes about in their cooler.

“Uh… yeah.” Dean swallows and just takes in the way Sam’s jeans curve around his cheeks. Dean’s face grows warm.

Two beers in hand, Sam closes the box and straightens. Dean doesn’t avert his gaze in time and Sam smirks as he catches Dean looking at him.

Rather than just throw the beer over to Dean, Sam brings it to him. Dean knows Sam is feeling more his usual self—well, as usual as he’s coming to know now that they’re trying out this being together thing—because the look his brother is giving him is downright flirtatious. All big eyes and parted lips. There’s a light in Sam’s eyes that’s been missing for days and it’s drawing Dean in. He takes the bottles from Sam’s hands and sets them down on the bedside table behind him.

Stepping up to Sam, Dean reaches a hand out to him and prays he’s not reading the situation wrong as he pulls his brother to him. Dean wraps his arms around Sam and gently kisses him on the lips.

Leaning his forehead against Sam’s, Dean takes a deep breath. “You doing okay?” he asks, breathing in the sweet apple scent of Sam’s shampoo.

Sam brings his hand to Dean’s cheek and pulls him in for another kiss. It’s light, but sure. “You tell me,” he says and then kisses Dean again. This time it’s harder and Sam pushes Dean’s mouth open. It’s like Sam is tasting him and Dean ignores the tang of whatever salad Sam had earlier, because having Sam demand him like this feels good.

Disregarding the fact that this is happening in some grungy motel room, Dean allows Sam to push him down onto his bed. Heart thudding, breath catching, Dean relishes the way Sam’s hand trails up under his shirts, stroking his stomach, caressing his side. Sam kisses him at the same time, sloppily making out with him, letting them forget that they’re on a case as their bodies respond to each other. Sam shifts on top of him, and suddenly there’s a denim clad thigh between Dean’s legs and he’s whimpering into Sam’s mouth, grinding up against him.

Sam pulls up and Dean can’t drag his gaze away as they catch their breath. Looking into Sam’s hazel eyes, warm and wanting, there’s so much Dean still wants to make up for. Wants to give and take.

_“I should have seen it sooner,”_ John’s voice tugs at Dean, from the depths of his memories. Before Dean can think it through, he’s pushing Sam off of him and scrabbling off of the bed.

“Dean?”

“Just gimme a minute.” Dean heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Dean doesn’t want to be having doubts about him and Sam, but it’s hard to let go of the past. Turning on the faucet, Dean splashes his face with cold water and tries to calm down. _Sam wants this. I want this. We’re not hurting anyone…_ Taking in a shaky breath, Dean resists the urge to cry. _I’m tired of being alone_. Stopping the water, Dean laughs bitterly to himself, _we get out of the Bunker and Sam finally starts something and I’m the one running off. Stop jerking yourself around, you can do this. We can have this_. Dean dries his face and heads back into the main room. _Sam… wants me_.

Waiting for Dean, Sam sits perched on Dean’s bed with their bottles of beer. He holds Dean’s out to him as he takes a swig of his own. Sam’s not surprised that Dean freaked a little, and he’s already reassured himself a dozen times in those few minutes that everything is fine.

“I… uh...,” Dean says, taking the offered bottle of beer. Watching his brother take a swig, Sam holds himself back from getting up and taking Dean into his arms again.

“Hey, don’t… worry about it. Okay?”

They sip their beers in silence and don’t move to get comfortable. Sam’s not sure what else to say. Having Dean back out of the bathroom and not running to the nearest bar is sign enough that his brother isn’t calling it quits from this new thing between them.

“It’s funny,” Dean says, taking a seat beside Sam on the bed, shoulders pulled in, “you’re uncomfortable each time we try something back home and me…” A sour laugh bubbles out of Dean and he shakes his head. “I freak out over nothing when we try something in some cheap ass motel.”

“Dean—”

“What we’re doing… you want this, right? You… want me? Because I don’t get it Sam. I really don’t get what you se—”

Sam grabs Dean’s face in both hands, beer bottle pressing against Dean’s cheek, and kisses him. Licking his way into Dean’s mouth. Sam enjoys the coldness of Dean’s tongue as they kiss. Savors how Dean’s shoulders relax as he gives into him. And then Dean switches it up—their beer bottles, near empty, thud to the floor—and Dean’s fisting the front of Sam’s shirt, mouth demanding that Sam gives himself over to him.

Strong hands holding him in place, Sam finds himself willingly giving into Dean, letting him take control. Tongues slickly sliding against each other, Sam tries to shift his dick as he gets painfully hard in his jeans. Dean seems to notice and he pulls his mouth off of Sam’s, giving him a look filled with promises and then he slides off the bed.

It takes a moment for Sam to register that his pants are being opened and Dean’s hands are on his hard cock, pulling him out of his clothes.

“Dean, you don’t have to—”

Dean’s plush, smooth lips slide down over the head of Sam’s cock, making Sam gasp and whimper. “Fuck, Dean, christ… You don’t—”

But apparently Dean does have to swallow him all the way down, nose bumping against his pelvic bone, and making Sam growl low in his throat. The luscious heat of Dean’s mouth makes Sam’s toes curl as he grips a handful of Dean’s light brown hair. Free hand clinging on for dear life to the side of the bed, Sam pants and gasps as Dean begins to pick up speed, groaning around his cock, tongue swirling over his head each time he comes up.

“Dean…” Sam moans. Dean’s actual mouth on his cock is superior to anything Gadreel had paraded through Sam’s mind, served up and had him believe was _his_ Dean. And while it all feels so good, Sam can’t help feel that he wants to pleasure Dean at the same time. Hold him and kiss him. To be with Dean, show him that he is so wanted.

Tensing his hand in Dean’s hair, Sam says, “Dean… stop a… minute.”

Dean pulls off of Sam and gives him a worried look. “I’m… sorry… didn’t you… want us to—”

“I do, I really do and you… felt fantastic… but I, um… can we get undressed and… uh… go for something else?”

The nod Sam gets in response seems unsure, but they help each other to stand and then Sam starts helping Dean out of his clothes and shoes as Dean helps Sam out of his. They trade kisses, Sam trying to reassure Dean with each one that he isn't going anywhere. Once naked, Sam drinks in Dean’s smoothness and freckles, and his heavy cock. It’s Sam’s turn to drop to his knees a moment.

Sealing his lips around Dean’s hardness, Sam teases his tip, lapping at his slit and making Dean whimper and shake. Pulling off, Sam licks down the underside of Dean’s cock and then he gets back to his feet, dragging his body along Dean’s cock. “Fucking… tease,” Dean pants out as Sam meets Dean’s face again.

Sam kisses the corner of Dean’s lips. “Get on the bed.”

There’s no question, Dean just does it and Sam searches out the lube he knows Dean’s packed in his bag. Finding it, Sam climbs up beside his brother and kisses Dean sweetly on his lips before opening the bottle of lube.

“Thought you’d be all—” Dean starts but is cut off as Sam straddles him, cocks level, and kisses Dean.

“You thought what?” Sam asks, voice low and demanding. He squeezes lube onto their lengths and takes them both in hand. Letting out a shaky breath, Sam crowds over Dean, leaning on one arm as he starts to stroke them both. Dean reaches his arms up and pulls Sam closer.

“Thought…” Dean gasps, “you’d… push… me up… against… the wall… and…”

Sam looks down into Dean’s flushed face, drinks in the shining green of his eyes. Hand keeping steady as it slides up and down their cocks—teasing himself as much as Dean when he gets just below their crowns—Sam dives down and steals his way into Dean’s mouth. Lips demanding entrance, which Dean readily hands him, letting Sam bring their tongues together.

Mouth seeming to work in time with his hand, Sam makes out with Dean, sucking and licking, before pulling off and smiling at him. “And... what? What did... you think… I’d… do?” Sam asks, thumb teasing Dean’s slit.

“Fuck… me,” Dean pants and Sam can feel his brother tensing below him.

“Mmmm,” Sam’s hand speeds up, “uh… that… does… sound… good…”

Dean kisses along Sam’s jaw. “You… spread my… legs… tongue… work me open… on your fingers… and then…”

Sam’s hand moves faster, his own thighs tensing with the approaching pull of orgasm. “Sink into you… fuck you…”

An incoherent shout breaks out of Dean as his orgasm hits, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and Sam comes not long after. They slick eachother’s stomachs and Sam’s hand, hot and desperate as they ride their orgasms out.

Rolling off of Dean, Sam sucks in quick breaths as his heart thuds in his chest. Lips find his and Sam moans happily as Dean kisses him.

“I don’t know how we’re meant to work this case now,” Dean says, climbing off the bed as he goes and gets a wash cloth from the bathroom. He returns and starts to clean the two of them up. Sam just lays on the bed and tries to form a coherent thought.

Finally, Sam replies, “We’ll just have to finish the case soon.” _Because it’s gonna be difficult not to think about this and what we just said_.

Dean sits down on the edge of the bed and gives Sam a disbelieving look. “We’ve got jack, with a side of shit.”

Sitting up and stroking a hand down Dean’s back, Sam shrugs. “Then we’re just gonna have to work this thing.”

“First we’re gonna eat. Missouri’s orders,” Dean says getting off the bed.

“First we’re gonna get dressed.” Sam slides off the bed and picks up his clothes. “Hey.”

“Hey what?” Dean asks, frowning.

Sam sidles up to Dean and kisses him on the cheek. “You look so good when you come,” Sam half teases.

“Way to make it weird, Sammy,” Dean bitches as he grabs his own clothes and puts some space between them.

They get dressed in silence. Dean retrieves the beer bottles, the grimy carpet hardly touched. The promise of more draws them towards the door, but Sam can’t shift the feeling that it’s going to be awhile before they can do this again.


	13. Chapter 13

Asking around the motel before heading out for food had brought them nothing. Now sat in a bar—night having finally descended—and eating steaming bowls of chili, Dean and Sam are working in the last place in town that can possibly dredge up a lead for them. Find out where the missing campers had been disappearing. Dean and Sam are sure a werewolf or a pack is responsible for those who had gone missing, considering the coroner’s report on the one camper that had surfaced. 

The chili is damn good. Dean holds back on verbally demonstrating this god given fact, but he can’t help smiling as he catches Sam equally enjoying his own bowl of the stuff. There’s a healthy glow to his brother that had been missing for some time, but since seeing Missouri, Sam did seem to be getting better. Still, thinking about Sam’s good health wasn’t getting them any closer to finding out what the hell was happening to those poor people who had gone missing. 

“Say,” Dean calls to the waitress. The woman comes over, pushing some stray strands of gray hair out of her face. 

“How’s that chili treating, ya?” asks their waitress. 

“It’s fantastic. But, we were wondering if you recognized any of these people?” Dean unfurls a print out featuring photos of the missing campers and hands it to their waitress. 

“You know, I used to be good with faces, but it's my age and the number of folks that come through this place. I seem to have lost the knack, so... These days, everybody under 40 looks the same to me. I'm sorry.” The waitress smiles and starts to head towards another customer by the bar. 

_Typical_ , Dean thinks, swirling the last of his beer around his glass and tossing a serviette into his now empty chili bowl. Talking things over with Sam, they decide that their best bet is meeting with Park Services in the morning. 

Just as they’re grabbing the check, the waitress suddenly has remembered something useful. “You know what I was thinking? You boys should check out one of the easement cabins. It's private property within the park. It's just held onto for tax purposes, so campers stumble on them and they can hole up in there for weeks. Some of your missing could be in one of them.” 

Dean nods and is about to ask where the cabins are, when Sam butts in with, “Thanks. We’ll be sure to check them out.” 

They pay up and Sam leads the way out of the bar. There’s no hiding the way Sam’s rubbing at his forehead as they head towards the Impala. 

“We didn’t find out where those cabins are, but I figure you already know?” Dean asks in a concerned voice as they reach the car. 

“Mmm-hmmmm,” Sam manages and then stops to lean against the side of the Impala. “I know where we need to head. We can’t wait until morning.” Sam looks back towards the bar and frowns. 

“What did you see?” Dean asks, coming round to Sam. He reaches a hand out towards him and touches the side of his face. 

The trust Sam shows by leaning into Dean’s hand makes his mouth go dry. Gazing up at Sam, Dean is almost overwhelmed by the warmth in his eyes. 

“I saw two campers. Chained up. And two werewolves. We need to tool up and ship out.” 

Nodding, Dean draws his hand away. “No argument here.” 

***

Life swims all around them. Insects buzzing. Owls hooting and bats squeaking as they hunt in the forest. The trail from the Impala up to the cabins Sam had seen is long and involves them straining their senses for any sign of werewolf activity. Silver bullet loaded handguns and flashlights heavy in their hands, Sam and Dean steadily hike up the trail. 

Saving their energy, they set a steady pace as they make their way through the forest. Each step fills Sam with a sense of dread, which is only heightened once they’re a couple of hundred yards from the cabin and Sam can sense the hostages. But things still don’t feel right, the surrounding trees and darkness getting brighter, the living death of organic processes becoming all too clear. How he can smell himself and Dean, and know that they smell of each other. 

There’s no point speaking. _Dean, we’re being watched. They know we’re here_. It stings to send the message, but it’s better than letting the werewolves know that they know they’re there. Sam has gotten better at guarding his thoughts, with practice, but he’s not Professor X. 

Dean nods beside him and steadies his gun. 

_There’s two of them_. 

Dean huffs out a breath. 

_I don’t know where exactly_. 

Sam can practically hear Dean roll his eyes. Shaking his own head, Sam starts heading towards the cabin and Dean takes the lead. Knowingly walking into a location that has two werewolves in it, as well as two people who need saving, doesn’t make Sam feel any easier about what they’ll have to do. Being forewarned doesn’t stop the spontaneity of combat going from fine to crap show in a heartbeat. 

Growing psychic powers or not. 

Reaching the wooden front door of the cabin, Sam covers Dean as he tries the handle. The door’s not locked and swings open smacking against an interior wall. _Well, not like we’re surprising anyone anyway_. 

A generator is powering the few lights that aren’t busted. Sam stows his flashlight and pulls out his silver blade. Clutching the blade in his left fist, Sam keeps his handgun steady in his right hand. He can hear Dean switching his weapons around, but Sam keeps his eyes steadily ahead, looking for any signs of life. 

The extra sensory information from the werewolves now in the cabin feeds through to Sam, much like it did with Tyler back at Storm Lake. But it’s more of a distraction than being helpful. Alien and different, Sam has to take a second to block out the information. 

Distracted, that’s the moment the werewolves decide to attack. Dean swings first at a blur of pale skin and jacket, and then Sam’s pivoting and deflecting his own blur of dark skin and— _is that a beanie?_ But Sam doesn’t have time to think about fashion choices, because the werewolf that’s circling him—transformed in its hiking gear; yellow eyes fixed on him; killer echoed with its every step—is definitely hot on the idea of ripping Sam’s throat out and then snagging his heart. 

To the casual onlooker, like there could be one in a situation such as this, the two werewolves would appear to be all raw menace and feral rage. They wouldn’t see that Sam and Dean are being herded, with every lunge, deeper into the cabin. Experience tells Sam that this is what is happening and he keeps a check on his surroundings as he keeps tabs on his opponent. 

After several feints, driving them deeper into the structure, Dean and Sam are in the cabin’s main room. Behind them are the prone bodies of two campers who are as of yet not reported missing. A man and a woman strung by their wrists from a wooden beam. Sam hopes they are just unconscious rather than already dead. 

A flash of insight tells him that they are still breathing. The werewolf fighting Sam lunges with purpose and Sam drops to throw the monster over himself and smack into a wall, shaking the cabin. Dust falls from the ceiling to the wooden floor and Sam realizes, too late, that his handgun is ten feet from him and that the werewolf is about to tackle him. There’s a grunt from Dean, but the continued flurry of movement from his end of things reassures Sam that his brother is fine. It’s just him who may be about to have some trouble. 

The werewolf gets back up and Sam’s fighting claws with fists, trying to keep the wicked curves of keratin from sinking into his flesh. Every blow from the werewolf makes his bones scream from impact, the force every bit super human. 

Sam knows the precise moment the werewolf is going to lunge for him and he grips his silver knife—handle thick in his hand—ready to finally take this bastard out. The beast leaps from the floor towards Sam, a snarl curling through the air, and Sam flicks the blade out just so. Burying the silver blade up to the hilt in the werewolf’s chest. In one movement, Sam lets go of the blade and dodges out of the way of the now falling beast—life gone out of its eyes. 

Turning to see Dean’s progress and how he might help, Sam looks to see a gun, his gun, being pointed at him from the floor. The other werewolf pulls the trigger. 

An instinctual flare of power, curls from his being, trying to change the path of the bullet—slow it, divert it—but all Sam manages to do is make the bullet curve just ever so slightly away from his organs. The bullet still hits his left side. Still buries itself in him. Sam briefly sees Dean take the werewolf out with a determined stab from his blade, but his vision is blurry and there’s a hot searing pain, _and why does everything hurt? Oh right, it’s ‘cause I’ve just been shot_. 

Helplessness smothers Dean as he watches Sam fall to the floor and onto his back, blood pouring out of his side. Scrabbling up from the now dead werewolf, he ignores the couple still hanging in the middle of the room, eyes looking around for anything he might use. He sees some cupboards along the opposite end and jogs over to them. _Gotta help Sammy. Gotta help Sammy. Gotta help Sammy_ , runs through Dean’s head over and over. 

The movement seems to wake up the man and he starts yelling and then stops when he sees the dead werewolves on the floor. Dean ignores him as he looks in the cupboards, filled with loads of odds and ends—broken lamps, maps, protein bars that have seen better days—until he finds what he needs. Yanking the first aid kit towards him, Dean jogs past the couple. 

“Baby, you still with me?” calls the man to the woman. 

Dean reaches Sam. “All right, all right.” 

Wincing, Sam waves a hand towards the waking couple. “Hey, Dean, they, uh…” 

Looking over to the couple, Dean yells, “Okay, just hold tight, you two, okay?” 

Turning back to Sam, Dean takes a calming breath and tries to gather a plan of action together in his head. “All right, listen, we gotta get that bullet out of there, okay?” 

A pained grunt escapes Sam and Dean can’t help noticing the color further fading from his brother’s face. Sam gives a curt nod. 

“Ain’t gonna lie: this is gonna hurt like hell.” 

Having Sam laid out on the floor, blood slickly pooling out of him, is one of Dean’s most recurrent nightmares. Those nights when he’s not made himself tired or drunk enough to sleep without dreaming, dead Sammy comes along to leave him sweating and crying under his sheets. 

Sam scrunches his face in pain as Dean opens up the first aid kit. _Everything is gonna be fine. Just need to get him to a doctor. All I gotta do is shore him up enough so he doesn’t bleed out everywhere_. 

And okay, so he’s ignoring the fucking pleas of the man from the couple that they’re meant to be saving, but neither of them is bleeding out from a bullet wound. Sam’s right here, screaming into a wad of gauze, trying his best to not pass out and Dean really can’t bring himself to give a crap about the civilians they had come here to help. 

Warm wet blood covers Dean’s hand as he finally pulls the bullet out of Sam. “Well, you know what? We got to keep that one. That one's gonna be a little memento. We'll laugh about it some other time.” 

“Guys? She ain't doing so good,” calls the man. 

Grabbing for a bandage from the kit, Dean looks over to the couple. Sam lets out a shaky breath and reaches for the bandage that Dean’s pulled out from the kit. “I got it,” Sam grunts out. 

Dean doesn’t want to leave Sam to deal with his wound by himself, but Sam insists with those stupid eyes of his and Dean forces himself to stand up and go over to the campers. It’s taking Dean a great deal of effort to not just leave them there. But he does “the right thing” and finds the key to let them out of their cuffs. Gives the guy what they need to bandage their wrists. 

_Right, I’m gonna get us the help we need_ , Dean thinks to himself as he goes to leave the cabin. 

“Hey, we’re coming!” calls the man. 

Dean shifts to look at the idiot. “No, no, no, no, no.” _I do not need your sorry asses slowing me down_. 

“Oh, no, we can't stay here, not with the others still out there.” 

Sam huffs out a breath and frowns between Dean and the man. “Others?” 

“Okay, listen, my brother's been shot. He can't stay here alone,” Dean points out. 

And just like that, the four of them are leaving the cabin, flashlights in hand, walking wounded and all that crap. Heading to the dream of a cell signal or a cabin that’s at least got some means of communicating with the outside world. Or towards a car. Anything that means help. Sam’s a lumbering mess at Dean’s side as he supports him as they walk. There’s no hiding the pain that he’s in. 

Corbin and Michelle, the couple, walk on ahead, but their progress isn’t any faster than Dean and Sam’s. Michelle keeps whimpering in pain, finding it tough to walk. 

“Could… have… been… a lot… worse,” Sam pants out. 

_Sure it could have been_. “You still got hit,” Dean reminds Sam, holding his brother a little tighter. 

“I… Managed to… Shift the bullet a little… Change its path.” 

_Son of a—_ “You telling me that shot would have killed you?” 

“If I hadn’t… uh… gone all Jean Grey… on its ass.” 

Dean can’t help laughing at that. “And you managed to pick the right member of the X-Men, because Magneto can’t affect normal bullets… and isn’t an X-Man. You geek. Okay… so it could have been worse.” 

“Obviously… I make… a… pretty poor… Jean Grey…” 

Laying a gentle kiss on Sam’s cheek as they stumble along a trail, Dean whispers in Sam’s ear, “You may not be a redhead, but you’ve definitely got the hair.” 

Sam smiles and turns his face towards Dean, nuzzling gently at his brother. Affectionate even with how much pain he’s in. Corbin looks back and frowns, catching the moment of intimacy between the two brothers. Dean catches him looking and gives Corbin a stare that says “I dare you to say anything, because if you do, I will leave you as chum for the werewolves to find”. 

Pulling out his cell, Dean checks for signal. 

“Anything?” Sam asks through gritted teeth. 

“No, nothing yet. The sun's gonna be up pretty soon.” 

Coming to a stop, Sam starts doubling over in pain, hand holding tightly against his side. Fighting to keep Sam on his feet, Dean can feel the weakening in Sam’s limbs as his final reserves of energy dwindle. 

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey. Come on. Okay,” Dean reassures, trying to will some of his strength into Sam. 

“I told you that... roadhouse chili was a bad idea,” Sam wheezes out. 

“I’ll keep the windows down when we get back to the Impala,” Dean jokes. 

“Guys, over here,” Corbin shouts from further away than Dean expects and he looks up along the trail. The looming hulk of a cabin is visible through the trees. 

Heading inside, Dean leaves Sam beside a counter and starts looking for anything they can use, he finds some lanterns and gets them lit with some matches. The place is kitted out better than the previous cabin, but it’s nothing but disappointment as he finds another dead landline. _Bastards must have severed the main connection for the area, in case shit like this happened_. 

“Hey. Hey, we got to keep moving,” Corbin urges Dean as he looks in a few more corners for anything they can use. “Those of us who... who can.” 

Straightening up and bringing himself to his full height, Dean stares daggers at Corbin. Michelle is laid out on the floor asleep, near Sam, face blanching in pain as she dreams. 

“What did you say?” Dean growls out. 

“I... look. Hey, Michelle's real sick, but she's got a chance. Him... he's slowing us down. And if they find us…” 

_I’m gonna kill you if you don’t shut up_. “We saved you, okay? We saved both of you.” 

“It's three lives versus one,” Corbin spits out and is about to say something else, but Dean doesn’t give him a chance. Shoving the weaker man up against a wall, making the wooden panels creak, Dean’s about ready to choke the man to death. 

“Whoa… hey!” Corbin cries, panicked. 

“Dean, stop! Dean... he's right. You guys need to... to go. Move. Go find help, come back for me,” Sam says hoarsely, clearly in a great deal of pain. 

This request, this order, goes against what every fiber of his being is telling him and Dean finds it difficult to let Corbin down. _Fuck Sam and his self-sacrificing. FUCK IT._

“No, Sam! No! I'm gonna go outside, I'm gonna find some wood, gonna build you a litter, and,” Dean rounds on Corbin again, “we are going to carry him the rest of the way.” 

Michelle’s whimpering in her sleep. There’s fear in Corbin’s eyes and Dean gives him a look of unsympathetic disdain. 

“It’s only a couple of miles,” Dean points out, trying to hide the desperation in his voice before leaving the cabin. 

***

Panting and wincing, trying not to move too much, Sam leans against a counter as he sits on floor boards. _If there are more werewolves, then we don’t have much time_. “Guys? Guys? Go find Dean. Get out of here.” 

Every few minutes, Sam berates himself for not seeing any of this happening. It’s pointless. Needless. Won’t help them now. Still, Sam can’t help feeling just that bit more useless, _what’s the point in having these… gifts if I can’t use them to stop shit like this from happening?_ Pain flares again, making Sam squeeze his eyes shut as he tries to ride through it. 

A wild desperate hope springs in Sam’s chest as Corbin comes into view. He doesn’t want them to go and leave him there to fend for himself, but Dean and him are meant to be _saving people_. “Hey, please. Go. You got to go,” Sam repeats. 

There’s a wild look to Corbin’s eyes, guilt mingled with desperation. A prick of pain spikes through Sam’s head and he sees Corbin’s intent. Sees the man trying to put his hands over his mouth and nose. Sees Corbin smother him. 

“He won't leave you. And we won't last out there without him,” Corbin says in a low voice. 

“No, no, no, NO!” Sam hisses out, but his body and mind are too battered to help him as Corbin leans in and brings a hand to Sam’s mouth. Sam struggles the best he can, but he’s lost so much blood that his arms are near useless to hold Corbin off. In one last desperate attempt to keep himself alive, Sam “pushes” at Corbin with his telekinesis, but all that does is buffet the man like he’s been hit by a strong breeze. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The hand remains and Corbin’s other hand pinches his nose. Sam can feel a blackness sweeping over him. Corbin’s cruel, determined face looks faraway, like it’s at the end of a tunnel. Quickly the tunnel becomes a pinprick of light and then nothing. No sound. No sight. No smell. No feeling. 

Outside, Dean snaps upright, litter near finished. He suddenly feels empty, like a part of part him has been snatched away. Stolen. 

“Sammy…” Dean says under his breath and then he’s sprinting for the cabin, each stride shooting pain up his shins, he’s moving so fast. 

Shoving the door open, Dean storms over to where he’d left Sam. Corbin hovers near Michelle. 

“Sam, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice tight and filled with disbelief. Hand shaking, Dean presses two fingers to the side of Sam’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He can’t feel anything and his world is slowly dissolving around him. Crumbling away, because he knows what’s happened, but he doesn’t want to believe. 

“What… happened?” 

“I... I... I don't know. He just went,” Corbin says lamely. 

Dean’s not listening. There’s tears welling up in his eyes and his heart feels like it’s been caught in a vise and is being squeezed. Stroking the side of Sam’s face. “Sammy,” Dean whispers. 

_What’s the point. What’s the point in any of this if you just get shot by some lame ass werewolf and die. I need you Sammy. I know the promises we’ve made. And I can’t… I—_

“They’re going to come… the _other_ ones... We should go!” Corbin yelps as Michelle whimpers. 

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Dean pulls out his silver blade. “Let ‘em come,” he says sternly. _‘Cause what’s the point?_

“Wait, we need to—” Michelle begins. 

Corbin grits his jaw. “He wants to stay.” 

Distantly, Dean hears Michelle shouting that they can’t stay. He’s listening to the sounds outside the cabin. Waiting. Protecting Sam now when he couldn’t before. 

“Hey, hey, you stay, you fight, you die. And so do we. Look… he's gone. I'm sorry, but he's gone. Help us. Please,” Corbin begs. There’s something there, in Corbin’s voice that reminds Dean of what Sam would want. Sam would want him to save these people. Want him to take them out of danger. 

Sam looks like he’s just sleeping. Peaceful and at rest. Dean swallows and shakes his head. “I'm gonna come back for you, okay? I promise,” he says, smiling setting a lit lantern down beside his brother. “Okay. Okay,” Dean says as he stands. “Let's go.” 

But just because this is what Sam would have wanted, doesn’t make it any easier for Dean to leave. Stepping out of a back door and taking a route off the main trail, staying out of view, each step feels like his heart is being squeezed just that bit more. 

Just a shame he couldn’t see who or what was waiting for him at the end of the trail.


	14. Chapter 14

Blinking his eyes open, Dean grits his teeth. With growing wakefulness comes the awareness of just how many different parts of his body are currently hurting. There’s the flesh like sting and muscle ache of his chest; the deep stabbing pain from his ribs every time he breathes. Groaning, Dean looks around the treatment room he’s been deposited in. _Can’t… Need to get Sam back. And that damn sheriff tasered me… Damnit. Gotta—_

A female doctor bustles over to Dean, name badge proclaiming her to be doctor Kessler. “Don't try to move if you can help it. You got a couple broken ribs I haven't tended to yet. That... and what is probably…” Kessler flashes a light into Dean’s eyes, blinding him for a second, “a nasty concussion.”

“Yeah,” Dean rasps out, “I got somewhere to be.” He tries to sit up in the bed, joints and muscles protesting with the movement. A pained grunt escapes him and he falls back down against the thin mattress.

“Hey, do us both a favor. Get some rest.” Kessler gives him an unimpressed frown, picks up a chart and makes a few notes. Putting the chart back on the end of the bed, Kessler implores Dean to stay put. She finally heads out of the room, leaving Dean alone.

There’s no denying the pain that Dean’s feeling, but he can’t care about it right now. He needs to get Sam back. A part of Dean knows that Sam wouldn’t want him to try anything reckless to bring him back, but Dean passed beyond being reasonable the second he saw Sam dead. Too much time has already been wasted and there’s so much left unsaid. If the past few weeks mean anything: they haven’t really lived yet. So Dean needs to get Sam back, no matter the cost.

 _Time to scrounge up a Reaper_ , Dean thinks to himself as he finally pushes up from the pillows on his bed. Carefully swinging his legs round, Dean stays where he is a moment as his head protests at the change in orientation.

 _I killed Death for him… and I’d do it all again_ , Dean thinks to himself as he tentatively touches the floor with one foot. A jolt of fire poker like heat sears through Dean’s chest as he stretches and he curses the werewolves that caused this mess. The recent revelation of what Dean means to Sam is only making him more desperate to scrounge up a quick, near reversible death for himself. Not that this new relationship is the only reason that Dean’s going to try and kill himself the second his ribs stop burning so much.

Metal squeaks against metal, and a familiar head of blond hair pops around the door to the room.

“Hi,” says Michelle as she greets Dean with a smile.

“Hey,” Dean replies, guarding his expression.

Michelle hovers by the door, nerves and anxiety clear. _Well, I suppose I’d be more than slightly jittery after the past day_.

“Can... can I…”

“Sure,” Dean replies to the unasked question. Michelle smiles again and slowly pushes her IV stand in as she walks behind it, yellow hospital gown dwarfing her. Catching sight of Michelle’s left cheek, Dean sees a long cut down her face and the butterflies holding it together.

Michelle stands beside Dean’s bed and lets out a shaky sigh. “I... I just wanted to see how you were doing. And to tell you th—” a sob catches part way in Michelle’s throat and takes a few breaths to steady herself. “I'm sorry. You saved our lives and... well, my mom used to say, um... I didn't believe her then, but I... I think I do now. She used to say... death... it's not the end.”

“Yeah, I know…” _And if you stop talking then maybe I can do something about it_.

“Why are you getting out of bed?”

“Gotta hot date I need to make,” Dean jokes. Finally, trusting himself to stand, Dean gets to his feet. _Hospital dispensary should have what I need. If we can’t… so long as Sam lives, it’ll be worth it_.

The plan loosely coming together in Dean’s head is an utterly terrible idea. So much could go wrong with it. _But hey, killing myself and coming back’s worked before_ , Dean reassures himself, but he doesn’t really believe his own crap. Dangerously on the verge of being hopeful, Dean follows a series of signs and makes his way to the medical center’s dispensary, Michelle choosing to tag along for reasons unknown to him.

Finding his way to the dispensary, Dean looks around the corridor he’s in. There’s no one but Michelle and him there. Feeling in the pocket of his jeans, Dean pulls out a small brown leather case containing some lockpicks.

“Would you keep watch?” Dean asks Michelle.

Michelle frowns, but nods. “Okay.”

Inserting the metal prong and hook, it takes Dean nine seconds to convince the lock to open. Checking they’re still alone, Dean herds Michelle into the room and is greeted by shelves and cabinets stuffed full of medications. The good stuff is behind glass fronted, locked cabinets. Closing his eyes for a second, thinking on what would work best to bring him close enough to death, Dean sees Sam laid out on the cabin floor, body lifeless and still. _No, I can change this. I can_.

“What are you doing?” Michelle asks and Dean snaps his eyes open.

Dean brings his pick set to a likely looking cabinet, the tumbler on the door one of the most robust looking. “I need to... I need to talk to a... well, I wouldn't call it a friend, more like a... scary, crazy death machine. Werewolves aren't the only monsters out there.”

Michelle comes to stand behind Dean as he works on the lock. “How exactly do you talk to an evil, scary death machine?” she asks, nervousness clear in her voice.

“Easy. I die.” The cabinet lock springs open and Dean begins to check the shelves.

Michelle’s hand anxiously brushes his shoulder, gently trying to make him look at her. “Hold on… you die?” Rolling his eyes out of view, Dean turns to face Michelle. “Look, if you don't... If you want to leave, I get it. But if you want to help me... I'm looking for pretty much anything with “barbital” in the name.”

***

Nothing.

And then.

Hands shaking. Empty brown pill bottles. Mouth full of chalk. Cool water. Fear. Regret. Hope. Soft brown curls and a wicked smile.

Billie and Dean.

Sam sees it all, feels it, as the vision painfully brings him back to consciousness, at the same time: a feeling like cool mercury spreads from his mouth, sliding under his skin. He coughs and groans, head suddenly feeling like a metal spike has been driven through his right temple. Deep and sharp, threatening to split his skull. DEAN! No, DEAN!

He wakes with a scream, eyes wild and his heart hammering.

“Geez, Moose, didn’t know you’re such a screamer,” Crowley snarks. The— _former?_ —King of Hell is stood over Sam’s prone body, a smirk on his face. Despite the confidence, the demon looks a little rough around the edges. Tailored suit having seen better days.

“What the hell are you doing here, Crowley?” Sam asks, holding a hand up to his bloody side. The bullet wound is still there, still oozing blood with his every breath.

“Nothing…” Crowley replies a little too easily, “but it’s great to see you, Sam. How you been?”

Hands shaking, Sam blinks his eyes hard and starts to claw his way up the counter beside him. Scrambling to his feet, Sam glowers at Crowley. “I got… somewhere,” Sam struggles to say, pain from the bullet wound intensifying, “to… be. So this conversation… is over.”

“You’re right. Well, I’ll leave you to it, Moose. But just so you know, if there’s anything you need— _no_ — _want to_ talk about: I’ll always lend an ear.”

“Yeah,” Sam huffs out, “and it won’t… be yours.” Completely upright now, Sam hears the not so reassuring sound of fat tires crunching over the dirt track outside. _I don’t have time for this, I need to get to Dean_. A part of Sam was curious as to why Crowley had shown up, but he buries his questions and focuses on the one thing he needs to do: _get to Dean_.

“Ha. Toodles, for now.”

Sam blinks and Crowley’s smug face is gone. _Okay, but seriously: what the hell was that about?_

The tires have stopped and Sam hears the engine of an SUV cut out. _Because obviously the other werewolves have got to show up right now!_ Feeling weaker with every step, Sam shuffles towards a staircase that leads down into the cabin’s basement.

Catching his breath away from the stairs, Sam listens to the cabin above him as he slips into an alcove. The front door creaks open and Sam slides his silver blade out of his jacket pocket. Blade covered in his own blood, Sam grips the handle and waits for the werewolves to inevitably track him down. Above him, the floorboards creak and dust drifts down from them. A mixture of fear and impatience churns away in Sam. He’s either getting out of this or not. _I’m getting through this. I am going to get to Dean and stop whatever the fuck that was_.

Heavy footsteps make the stairs creak. From his vantage point, Sam watches a tall, heavy set man reach the foot of the stairs. The man bends down and slides his fingers through a pool of Sam’s blood and then licks them. Trying not to feel too grossed out, Sam stays where he is, out of sight. Another, lighter pair of footsteps come down the stairs and Sam recognizes the waitress from the bar. _Now that I think about it, that other guy was there too_.

The pair exchange a glance and then take separate paths that will see them slowly circle towards Sam’s hiding place. _Now or never…_ Dodging out of his hiding place—a sudden strength he wasn’t feeling a moment go now surging through him—Sam streaks towards the male werewolf before he has a chance to react and sinks his silver knife into the beast’s chest. He moves so fast, the werewolf doesn’t get a chance to make a noise.

Behind him, Sam can hear the waitress stalking towards him. The male werewolf slides to the floor and Sam goes for the knife. Drawn to his hand like an iron to a magnet— _or did I will it?_ —the silver knife flies into Sam’s outstretched appendage and in turn Sam flings the blade— _throws it, launches it_ —at the waitress. His mind driving it towards the werewolf. The blade finds it mark and sinks into her chest, a sharp scream ripping out of her throat as death claims her.

Sam hardly has to twitch his right hand and the silver blade flies back towards his palm, grip first. Stunned, he stands in the basement for a moment, trying to understand what has just happened. His head is hardly hurting. Throwing the blade around had been near effortless for him. _How... the… fuck?_ Giving his hand a worried glance, Sam chooses to ignore whatever might be going on with himself, bullet wound and all, and checks the werewolves for car keys. Finding some, he heads back upstairs.

Determination drives Sam forward as he leaves the cabin and takes the SUV the werewolves arrived in. Ignoring the pain in his side and the continuing trickle of blood, or the coldness of his skin (like mercury flowing underneath), Sam drives back down the track, only stopping when he reaches the Impala. He switches cars.

 _“You didn't need the feather to fly, you had it in you the whole time, Dumbo!”_ Ruby’s words suddenly come to mind as Sam heads back to the town of Grangeville. The words are as clear as the day that Ruby spoke them in the former convent that had housed the last of Lucifer’s seals. He’d made that knife fly like it was nothing, just a mere extension of his being, there to be controlled by his will. _I don’t need to think about this right now. Focus, Sam._

Being in Baby, thinking about the weirdness of himself, of what he’s done, what he could do, does nothing to soothe Sam’s nerves. Even with Missouri’s reassurances and the training regime, Sam still worries that he could become a monster again. That he’ll be that Sam, neck deep in demon blood, want burning in his throat.

 _No, I’m gonna be fine. I’m gonna get to Dean… and we’re gonna be fine. Get to Dean. Save Dean… and then we’ll leave this damn town and save Cas. Leave this damn town and finally find out what we can do to help Cas and stop Amara_ , Sam thinks as he drives. He needs to think about the future, because what he saw said Dean wouldn’t have one. The future looks like there’s a Dean shaped hole in it and Sam cannot handle the idea that Dean could die now, after how far they’ve come together. How close they’ve become since realizing the truth of what’s between them.

Sam needs to think about what they’ll be doing tomorrow and the day after that and the week after that, because if he doesn’t think about these things he is going to crash the car as he screams. And Dean wouldn’t want his Baby wrecked. Finally off the forest roads, with the town visible, Sam can feel a pull of where he needs to go. The thread that’s telling him that Dean is in the same direction as the signs leading to the local medical center. Still feeling that thread of connection gives Sam some hope that his brother is still alive.

The closer he gets to the medical center though, the more a feeling of worry and dread builds in his stomach. Maybe it’s all the blood loss, but Sam can’t help feeling like there’s more than just pills that could kill Dean at the center.

***

Maybe he should have been sat down. The second the drugs hit Dean’s system, his world plummets and his heart slows to a crawl. At some point he must plunge to the floor, but that doesn’t matter because he can see himself as he chokes from the overdose. The sheriff, Michelle and Kessler are trying to stop him from dying. _Now if we could just hurry up maybe this all doesn’t have to be a waste. So, come out, come out, wherever you are…_ Dean thinks to himself, turning his ethereal form on the spot.

Billie, hair bouncing, tight jacket fitting just right, waltzes into view and eyes Dean. Hunger in her eyes like she would love nothing more than to eat him up.

So of course Dean goes straight to antagonizing her. “Well, it took you long enough.”

Billie huffs a laugh, but keeps her predatory gaze as she circles closer to his fallen body. “Dean Winchester,” she says smoothly.

“What's with the freeze-frame?” Dean asks, the still living people in the room paused mid action.

Billie cocks her head towards Dean. “Just savoring this. Though I have to say of all the ways I thought you'd go... heart attack, some fang, choking on a burger while binge-watching “Charles in Charge”...”

“Well, that was peak Baio.”

Seeming to grow disinterested with Dean’s body, Billie stalks over to his spirit. “Point is, never took you for the suicide type. Doesn't fit your whole martyr thing. So... 'sup?”

Unsure what to say to the suicide comment, Dean gets straight to the point. “We need to talk about Sam.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Billie gives Dean a politely confused look. “What about Sam?”

“I need him back.” _And ain’t that the fucking truth_.

“Back?” Billie asks, still seeming to be confused.

Dean can feel himself tensing, even though he’s got no body. _Of course I need him back. What the hell do you think I’m doing this song and dance for?_ “Stop playing. Look, you've got him, I need him. Let's make a deal.”

That gets Dean a shrug and Billie turns away. “Pass.” She starts to head off.

 _What the fuck?_ “Really? Just like that?”

The reaper glances back to Dean. She shrugs again. “Just like that.”

“You know, the Darkness is out there... and the world is gonna burn. And once she gets started, that's the end of everything, including you. Now, Sam's the only one who can stop it,” Dean trots out, knowing the line’s helped them out before, but he’s already convinced that it won’t work.

“Hmm. How’s that?”

_I dunno, he’s getting his mojo back, maybe… maybe he can do something? Christ, how can I kid myself? He’ll probably never have enough juice to take on Amara, he—_

“That's what I thought. It's cute, though. You pretending you're trying to save Sam for the greater good, when we both know you're doing it for you. You can't lose him. But even if Sam has a chance at winning the title bout... the answer would still be “no.” The answer will always be “no.” Game's over, Dean. No more second chances. No more extra lives. Time to say bye-bye to Luigi, Mario.” There’s a flicker behind Billie, like there’s a shadow behind her that Dean can’t quite see and be begins to remember that he is talking to the reaper that became _the_ face of reapers after he killed Death. And in that brief moment, Dean begins to get a feeling for why maybe it looks like Billie is currently top dog among these afterlife peddlers.

But he needs to save Sam. “I'm asking you... I'm begging you, please. Bring him back. Bring him back and take me instead.”

“I'm not here to bargain with you, kid. I'm here to reap you. And the kicker is... Sam's not dead.” Billie grins at Dean.

Thoughts freezing up, Dean can’t quite process what Billie just said.

“But you are. Or will be, soon enough.” Billie snaps her fingers and reality starts up again, Kessler working desperately to save Dean from what is beginning to feel like his own idiocy.

“But how?” Dean asks.

A predatory look returns to Billie’s face. “Trust me. If the big “W” bit it, I'd get a call.”

 _Wait, Sam’s alive?_ Dean realizes as he begins to feel a pull back towards his own body.

The reaper stretches her hand out to Dean. “Come along now, Dean. It's time. The Empty... it's waiting.”

Feeling a pull from somewhere around his navel, Dean blinks and then he’s back in his own body. Drawing ragged breaths and coughing as he comes back to consciousness. _Sam’s alive! Woah!_ Dean lets himself be turned over and he starts to vomit up the crap he took.

It’s not pretty, but once Dean’s body is done with purging itself, doctor Kessler and Michelle help Dean to his feet. Dean glances to Michelle and whispers, “He’s alive.”

“He? Sam? Oh, thank God,” Michelle replies loudly, voice scratching against the inside of Dean’s head.

“Yeah, him not so much… But, uh, I need a car.”

That gets the sheriff's attention and he’s screaming at Dean before he knows it, ten kinds of bullshit about arresting him on this and arresting him on that. The sheriff grabs Dean and cuffs his hands behind his back.

“Sedate him,” the sheriff almost growls at the doctor. Dean knows how this is going to fly, considering what he’s just been through.

The doctor refuses and the sheriff escorts her out of the room, leaving Dean with Michelle. Which is all kinds of stupid when you consider that he’s just been left with an accomplice and is inside a room filled with the crap he just tried to off himself with. Not that Dean is going to try that again, but he can’t help feeling it’s more than a touch negligent.

“Hey, Michelle, can you see if there’s anything like a paperclip in here or track down my lockpicks?”

***

Pushing the speed limit, Sam’s about a mile from the medical center when he has to slam on the brakes and steer to the side of the road. Pain erupting in his head, Sam finds himself in the medical center, watching whatever the scene is like he’s cocooned in a bubble above it.

Corbin goes for some woman, a doctor, and slashes her throat open before charging out of his room, blood dripping from his right hand. Sam sees the newly minted werewolf run through the corridors and halls of the medical center, clawed hands making quick work of anyone he meets. He’s deadly and has no self-restraint as he finally sniffs out Michelle and Dean in what must be a dispensary. Dean’s hands are cuffed behind his back.

The vision goes as swiftly as it came, leaving Sam’s heart banging away inside his chest and a fresh crescendo of pain inside his skull. _No, no, no, he’s already not died once. I am not letting that FUCKING ASSHOLE TAKE HIM AWAY._

Putting a turn signal on, Sam pulls back onto the road proper and steps on the gas. He’s at the medical center within minutes. Rushing out of the Impala, side screaming at him as he grabs some silver blades and a gun, he storms into the center and uses the thread of connection he feels for Dean as he rushes through the unfamiliar corridors. He almost trips over a body.

Looking down, Sam recognizes the doctor from his vision, body half in, half out of a patient room. There’s blood on the door and drops trailing away from the doctor, heading further down the corridor. Sam’s hoping that Corbin hasn’t killed anyone else, but then he finds a dead sheriff. Throat missing.

There’s the sound of bottles smashing. Double doors burst open and Dean and Michelle sprint out of what must have been the dispensary. Michelle has a metal drawer handle in her hands and she slots it between the door’s handles, trapping Corbin. Meanwhile, arms cuffed behind his back, Dean almost over balances and instead bumps into a wall.

“DEAN!” Sam shouts. He wants to run over to his brother and pull him into his arms and kiss him again and again, but there’s still a job to do.

A desperate and awed look washes over Dean’s face. Then his brother remembers himself. “Corbin’s in there.” A snarl and more smashing bottles punctuates Dean’s statement. “Think you can do something about these?” Dean asks, tipping his head back.

Stepping over to Sam, Dean turns and shows him the handcuffs that are on his wrists. “Who’s got the key?” Sam queries, feeling in his pocket for something to unlock the cuffs.

“Sheriff.”

“Right, well he’s dead along with some doctor,” Sam says focusing on the gleaming metal restraining Dean’s wrists. A tug of power from within, small and uncertain, makes Sam lift up his right hand and place his palm over the cuffs. He’s almost touching Dean’s ass.

“Hey now, we ain’t got no time for that, find something to pick these with!” Dean garbles out.

“Just…” Sam mutters. The dispensary door begins to seriously rattle on its hinges. Claws ripping wood apart from the other side.

“C’mon!” Dean panics.

Blocking out his surroundings, Sam _feels_ for the different components that make up the lock. All the bars and springs. He wills them all to shift. The lock springs open with a click and the cuffs fall off of Dean’s wrists, clattering to the floor.

Dean spins round and regards Sam. Happiness wars with confusion on his face. “What… what did you just do Sam?”

“It’s nothing,” Sam says lamely then winces as the wound at his side twinges. “Both of you, get behind me.” _It’s time to finish this._

Grabbing his left arm, Dean tries to stare Sam down. “Now hang on, you’re still hurt and you think you’re gonna take Corbin on by yourself?”

“That’s the idea… and I’m no worse off than the guy that just tried to kill himself,” Sam says in a voice cut with anger. _Because what the hell, Dean? Seriously._

Dean flinches at that. “What are you… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Get behind me… Now.” The air is crackling around Sam, like static electricity is filling the air. His hair raises from his head a little, but Sam isn’t aware of this as Dean and Michelle get behind him. He can sense Dean’s concern and Michelle’s fear.

“What’s he going to do?” Michelle asks Dean in a small voice.

“No idea.” And he doesn’t know, so Dean doesn’t do anything, realizing that he needs to let Sam run the show from here.

The doors strain against the handle as Corbin continues his assault. Wood is starting to splinter and the metal of the drawer handle is starting to bend. They don’t have much time.

Taking up a fighter’s stance, Sam raises his right hand, palm in front of him. Focusing on the door, he flicks his wrist and the metal bar flies out from the door handles, just as Corbin is charging it. Corbin bursts through the doors and goes smack into a wall opposite. Bone crunching and plaster crumbling.

“Sam...” Dean says in a warning voice.

“I’ve got this,” Sam says in a monotone, the air seeming thicker as he pulls two silver blades from his jacket without touching them. Menacingly, they float up in front of Sam, pointed towards Corbin.

The werewolf is getting to his feet now and looks murderously at Sam, Dean and Michelle.

“Michelle…” Corbin simpers. He’s not fully transformed, but there’s no mistaking the claws at the end of his elongated fingers.

“Stay away from me,” Michelle warns.

“Hey, baby. Please, don't be scared of me. I didn't want this. Okay, any of this, but... it's happened and it feels so... you'll see. We'll be together.”

“That what you think?” Sam spits out. Fury fills his veins as he looks at Corbin. Sees the face of the man that tried to kill him. “The way I see it, you’re not getting out of here alive. Unlike you: _I will finish the job_.”

Corbin growls and takes a step forward. “You… and your brother are… sick freaks. Do you know that Michelle? I saw them, earlier. Saw them—”

“You killed two people and almost killed Sam. I don’t care what you saw,” Michelle cuts in, voice thick.

A snarl rips out of Corbin and he lunges towards the three of them. The silver blades suddenly leave Sam and streak through the air, finding their targets in Corbin’s chest. One to his heart and one to his left lung. The werewolf drops to the floor, mere inches from Sam’s feet. Sam glowers at Corbin as he looks up at Sam, life fading from his eyes. A small feeling of satisfaction flares in Sam as he watches Corbin finally die.

“Dude?” Dean asks quietly. Michelle’s sniffing behind him.

Twisting round to regard his brother, Sam feels like he’s himself again. He gives Dean a regretful smile and then winces in pain as his side starts to noticeably throb again.

“Could we, uh, fix me up before we head home?” Sam asks, voice normal.

Whatever worry Dean had been feeling at how Sam handled things is shoved back. _Sam’s safe. Sam’s alive. Sam is here_. Dean steps forward, ignoring Michelle for a moment and takes Sam’s face in his hands. He pulls Sam down and kisses him lightly on the lips. _He’s here. He’s alive_. Dean backs up a little and stares into Sam’s eyes.

_Are they bluer than usual?_


	15. Chapter 15

Within the space of a day, Dean’s gone from thinking Sam was going to die, to he’s dead, to he’s alive. He’s tired and the drive back to Lebanon from Grangeville is over twenty hours. It’s not a short drive by any standards. After all that’s happened, and with everything they’ve yet to do, Dean happily pulls up at a motel once they hit the ten hour mark. Beside him, Sam’s curled up asleep on the bench seat already, fresh green plaid on, hair all mussed up. Dean’s concussion has turned out to be nothing, but his ribs aren’t happy. 

It’s tough to remember when he’d last had such an intense day on the job, but this one definitely rates up there. Having seen Sam dead in the Soul Eater’s house a few weeks back, since then he’d been having nightmares of seeing Sam like that. Everything that had happened in those cabins back in Grangeville had been his worst nightmares come true. Dean doesn’t spend his time constantly worrying that Sam’s going to wind up dead, because he’d be too paralyzed with fear to do anything. Too scared to help anyone. But sometimes… 

“Where—” Sam yawns, “are we?” he asks, startling Dean from his thoughts. 

“I think half an hour outside of Rock Springs? We’re in Wyoming. Figured we could do with some bed rest? Some food?” 

It’s getting dark, but there’s diner a couple of hundred yards down the street still open for business. The exhaustion that had made Sam fall asleep as soon as they got back in the Impala hadn’t seemed the same after the previous times he’d used his powers. Dean wasn’t sure what to make of that. Wasn’t sure what to make of what he’d seen back in the medical center. 

“Sounds good.” Sam smiles at Dean, eyes gleaming brightly in the gloom. His brother looks almost… _ethereal?_ Dean ponders as he takes him in under the motel’s lights. 

“Uh, shall we get the room and then…” 

“Sure.” 

Going for his door handle, Dean’s surprised as Sam shuffles over and pulls him into a kiss. The kiss feels great, but Sam’s leaning on his wounded side. Gently pushing Sam back, Dean smirks at him and says, “Careful or you’ll pop your stitches.” 

“Oops, forgot about those,” Sam says in a voice that’s ten years younger and all kinds of hot. Blood rushing where it has no right to go before they’ve paid for a room, Dean tries to think about anything and anyone but Sam as he finally gets out of the car. 

“You wait here,” Dean half orders and then heads off towards the motel office. He gets their usual two queens and wonders if Sam might want to share a bed. Reaching the Impala again, Dean sees that Sam’s gotten out and is stretching his neck. 

To see Sam like this, considering he took a bullet less than a day ago, noticing the way he doesn’t favor any side and isn’t protecting where the wound is? Dean doesn’t care what pain meds they managed to scrounge from the clinic back in Grangeville, but Sam shouldn’t be that limber and pain free right now. After all the panic and devastation—Dean doesn’t want to start thinking that something, beyond Sam secretly being a psychic for years, is wrong here. 

Though he’s also still surprised that Sam hasn’t chewed him out yet about the suicide attempt. _Probably still got that coming_ , Dean decides, accepting that it’s inevitable. 

“Yo, I thought I told you to wait,” Dean calls over as he reaches Sam. 

“Wanted to stretch my legs,” Sam offers, another smile lighting up his face. It’s true, Dean would like to just drag Sam into their room right now, but his stomach is increasingly begging that he put some real food in it. Instead he plays it cool and nods towards the diner down the street. 

“Food first?” 

“Sure.” 

Once Dean parks the car by their room, they walk on over to the diner. Stepping inside, it’s clearly a family run business. The place looks clean and Dean eagerly eyes up a selection of pies on display. _Dessert?_

Taking a booth at the back, with a view of anyone coming or going from the kitchen or front of house, Dean’s kinda surprised when Sam decides to sit on the same side of the booth and box him in. Not that he doesn’t appreciate it, but it’s kinda cozy and Dean’s not entirely sure how the staff and other patrons might react. 

Grabbing a menu, Dean tries to just be himself and figure out what he’s going to eat. There’s a double cheeseburger that sounds like the kind of food he could really go for after everything that’s happened. With a side of fries and a salad— _that’ll keep Sam happy_. 

A waitress comes by and takes their orders, Sam going for a meatloaf with veggies, Dean keeping to the burger. They stick with coffee and wait for their food. Not saying anything. _Just… enjoying each other’s company?_

Sam’s right leg starts pressing into Dean’s. Throat going dry, Dean glances over at Sam and can’t quite believe how… well his brother is. _All things considered, you should be tired, hurting and something else, but this is…_ Dean doesn’t want to be ungrateful, but it’s a little weird seeing how good Sam seems to be feeling. Picking up his cup of coffee, Dean starts to sip the beverage and splutters as Sam’s right hand slips onto his thigh. He can feel his face going redder and redder. Looking around, it doesn’t appear that they’re being watched. 

Putting the coffee down, but keeping his hand on the cup, Dean gently lowers his left hand under the table and twines his fingers with Sam’s. He’s so warm and alive and… 

“I thought I lost you,” Dean whispers, throat dry again. 

Sam huffs out a quiet “hmmm” and squeezes Dean’s hand. “Well, I thought I was gonna lose you,” he says quietly. 

Catching a look at Sam, Dean sees his brother’s eyes are wet. _Looks like we’re having that conversation sooner rather than later_. 

“Yeah… well….” _I’m a codependent son of a bitch_. “I couldn’t just… leave you dead.” 

“So you thought bargaining with a reaper was the way to go? I mean, did you forget about Billie’s promise to shove us into the Empty? At which point in your plan did you think that we’d be back together?” 

Sam’s words sting, but his brother doesn’t let go of his hand, so Dean lets it wash over him. And maybe let the resentment in Sam’s voice sink in a little. It’s all good feedback and if they weren’t talking about life and death, and Dean killing himself: maybe Dean wouldn’t feel like a piece of dirt as he sits in this mom and pop diner and wonders if Sam will forgive him. 

“Grief…” Dean begins, finally finding some words he can use, “is a funny thing, Sam. Makes you do crazy things. So let’s just put chalk this up to Winchester stupidity and pig-headedness.” 

The squeeze of his hand and the shuddering breath Sam takes makes Dean want to wrap his arms around his brother. Hold him. There’s a tightness to Dean’s chest and it has nothing to do with his busted ribs. Wondering if they should just pay up and head back to the motel, their food is served. 

Before letting go of Dean’s hand so that they can eat, Sam squeezes it again and leans in close to Dean, breath hot against his ear. “I… understand. Just… don’t sacrifice yourself like that again.” 

Sam lets go of Dean’s hand and they start to eat. They both have apple pie for dessert. 

***

Battered, bruised and more than a little travel worn, Dean is exhausted. Sam’s eyes keep fluttering closed when they get back to their motel room and bring in their stuff. It’s not even ten and despite the cheapness of the room and the discoloured carpet, and the over starched bed sheets, the beds call to Sam. But he stinks and feels like he’s bathed in a century of grime and so a shower first is a more appealing prospect. Stealing a look at Dean, seeing the smudges of the day’s battles on his brother’s face, helps Sam decide that taking his brother into the shower with him would be well worth their time. 

Dean sits down on the bed nearest the door and shucks off his boots. Kicking off his own boots, Sam walks over to Dean and holds out a hand. 

“What?” Dean asks, sounding tired. 

“Let me clean you up,” Sam says softly. There’s no rush. They don’t have to head back to the Bunker right away. Here in this motel room, Sam can do something that shows Dean that he loves him, cares for him… and really isn’t one hundred percent pissed at what he tried back in Grangeville. 

The look Dean gives Sam—expression open, eyes not quite believing what Sam’s said—makes Sam’s chest hurt. Not believing the tenderness behind what he’s said, again seeming not to believe that Sam wants him. Dropping his hand, Sam falls to his knees, between Dean’s legs, and pulls Dean’s face into his hands. They kiss. 

Mouthing Dean’s lips apart, Sam uses the kiss to tell Dean that he loves him, that he’s not going anywhere. Reminds him that they can have this and that he wants this. It takes a moment, but then Dean’s returning the kiss, hands reaching out to hold Sam’s shoulders and anchor them together. Warmth fills Sam’s body. He pushes aside the panic and fear that’s driven him over the past day. Letting his hands fall to Dean’s waist, Sam allows Dean to take control of the kiss. 

Panting, blood rushing to his cock, Sam just wants Dean to feel how alive he is. How alive they both are. Wetly pulling away from Dean’s mouth, Sam stares up at his brother and asks, voice husky with need and emotion, “Shower?” 

Giving a steady nod, Dean helps Sam to his feet. Eager fingers work over each other as they undress. Dean pauses for a moment at the sight of the waterproof dressing that’s been applied to Sam’s side. 

“It’ll be fine,” Sam pants. “C’mon.” Taking Dean by the hand, their bodies naked and cocks half-hard, Sam pulls Dean into the room’s bathroom. Closing the door seems to snap Dean out of whatever reverie he was in and he switches the lights and shower on, letting the water warm while he mouths along Sam’s jaw. 

For the briefest moment, Sam gets a full view of the sore, puffy skin over Dean’s torso that’s beginning to bruise. Stroking a hand down Dean’s arm, Sam asks, “They hurting much?” 

Dean laughs and looks up at Sam, eyes seeming deeper and greener in the bathroom light. Like two fathomless rock pools. Untethered, Sam feels set adrift in those eyes and his mouth glides over to Dean’s as steam fills the room. Lips soft, but insistent, Sam tastes Dean again. Breathes in the mix of coffee and sandalwood that’s Dean’s scent there and then. Sam feels lost and found at the same time as they kiss, hands exploring, light touches. The future stretches out ahead of them, uncertain, but here’s Dean, with him right now. Expressing what he hasn’t had the chance to previously say. Sam knows they still have so much time to make up for. 

It’s Dean who manoeuvres them into the shower. Dean who starts washing Sam with gentle touches, soaping him up and leaving him aching. Carefully, he rinses Sam off and then helps wet his hair, strong fingers stroking through it and helping to wash it. Tender hands massage Sam’s head as he dips it down so Dean has easier access. The scent of apple wafts through the air and Sam moans lowly as Dean’s hands and fingers smooth through his hair just right. 

“Like that, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice deep and husky. 

“Yeah. Feels… so… good,” Sam answers, as he decides he wants to make Dean feel as good. Taking a moment to let Dean rinse the shampoo from his hair, Sam then ducks around Dean. Picking up the soap, Sam lathers his brother’s skin up, careful of his injuries. Hand slipping down to cup Dean’s half hard length, Sam works his hand around that sensitive flesh. Stroking Dean until his fully hard. 

“Wait, Sam— FUCK!” Dean cries out as Sam, in one fluid motion, gets into a kneeling position in front of Dean and sinks his mouth over Dean’s cock. 

The pressure of Sam’s mouth around him makes Dean whimper and jerk. Body desperate to do more than just let Sam blow him. Water pummelling his back, Dean looks to Sam and the brilliant eyes staring up at him like he is the center of the universe. _Beginning and end_. Sam draws up to the end of Dean’s shaft and presses his tongue against Dean’s slit. 

“Sam…” Dean pants out, “please…” he doesn’t want to stop, but he doesn’t want to come down Sam’s throat like this either. “Look, can we… stop a minute?” 

Pulling off, Sam gives Dean a quizzical look as he carefully rises to his feet again. “Everything okay?” Sam asks as a bead of pre-come is washed away from the tip of his own cock. 

Dean groans at the sight. “Yeah, just want something more… you read me?” 

Nodding, Sam leans in and kisses Dean, shoving his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Making him taste himself. Ending the kiss, Sam playfully pushes Dean under the water and washes his hair. 

Minutes later they’re dragging each other back into the bedroom, bodies near enough dry, hair still sopping. They climb onto the bed furthest from the door and Dean takes the initiative. He kisses down Sam’s chest, teasing Sam’s nipples and making him whimper. Sam’s soft warm skin tastes like home, but as Dean reaches Sam’s erect cock, Dean feels a stab of pain from his ribs. He yelps and rolls over onto his back. 

“Shit!” Dean wheezes out. 

Moment gone, Sam rolls off the bed and Dean watches his brother as he finds a water bottle and some pain meds. “Here,” Sam says, offering it all to Dean. 

Gingerly sitting up, Dean takes the pills. Sam puts the bottle on the bedside table and then untucks the bed covers. Climbing back onto the bed, Dean allows Sam to make him the little spoon and Sam pulls the covers up over their bare bodies. 

It sounds like Sam’s reassuring himself more than Dean when he whispers, “We have plenty of time,” before drifting off to sleep. 

Dean does his best to believe him.


	16. Chapter 16

“So… were you having visions when Lucifer was messing with you from the Cage?” Dean blurts out all of a sudden. They’re a few hours from the Bunker and Sam’s already trying not to think about being inside there again. The creeping sense of unease at the prospect isn’t as strong as their last return trip, but it’s there. Memories of Lucifer wearing Cas are warning Sam to stay away. Making him fidget in his seat, rub his hands together—though he does feel cold. He’d had a nightmare during the night too. He’d dreamed that he was drowning in a thick, shining liquid. 

Dean’s question cuts through Sam’s unease and leaves him confused. “Sorry, what?” 

“When you were having visions of Lucifer and the Cage… were you having visions of anything else?” Dean asks again. 

“Uh, yeah… It’s why I thought they were real.” _Why are you asking me about this now?_ “What does it… matter?” 

“I dunno, I was just… wondering if things could have gone any differently. I just still can’t get over that that dick is riding around in Cas… that Cas let him in.” 

Shifting his hands through his hair, Sam lets out a long breath. _So it’s just back to this conversation again_. They’d spun their theories on this so many times now and it hadn’t gotten them anywhere. Just led to more of the same. 

“Look… maybe if we find another Hand of God then we can finally deal with Amara and get Cas back. Once he knows Amara is defeated, he’ll kick Lucifer out.” 

“That’s a lot of ifs and maybes.” Dean’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel. 

Sam’s not going to argue with Dean on this. There’s no point. “Yeah, but it’s all we’ve got.” 

Despite the sunlight streaming into the car, Sam is starting to feel cold. Dean’s got his window wound down a little, but the chill creeping down to Sam’s bones feels like the kind you’d get when there’s a ghost nearby. But his breath isn’t misting up in front of him. Rubbing his hands together, trying to warm them, Sam starts to shiver. He feels like his very core is a chunk of ice, cooling the rest of him from the inside out. 

“Sammy?” Dean asks, noticing that something’s up. 

“Could you... close your... window?” Sam asks between shivers. 

The window goes up and Dean holds onto the wheel with one hand as he leans towards Sam. “Forehead,” Dean orders, like he use to when Sam was a kid and he thought Sam might have a fever. 

Leaning towards Dean’s outstretched hand, Sam’s teeth chatter as Dean feels his forehead with the back of his hand. The warmth there feels good and before Sam knows what he’s doing, he’s slid along the bench seat and is trying to cuddle up to Dean. Allowing Sam to stay where he is, Dean’s hand returns to the wheel. 

“You’re really cold.” 

“You… think?” Sam shivers and tries to warm his hands under his arms, but it doesn’t seem to be doing any good. 

“We could pull over and I could find you one of my sweaters? Pretty sure I got something in my duffel.” There’s no mistaking the concern in Dean’s voice. “And maybe I could check your wound, make sure it’s not getting infected?” 

Neck muscles contorted form shivering, Sam manages a “sure” through chattering teeth. Dean pulls off the highway and gets them into a safe spot to stop. They’re surrounded by fields of tilled earth filled with green shoots. Sam slumps in the front seat as Dean gets out and curls up on his side, chasing the warmth left by Dean’s body. 

Jogging behind the Impala, Dean tries to stay calm as he opens up the trunk and searches for a hoodie, blanket and then the first aid kit. _I’m sure it’s nothing. But if we need to, I suppose I can get hold of some antibiotics_. Closing the trunk, Dean walks round to the driver’s door again and opens it to find Sam the wrong way round with his head towards the driver’s door. Closing the door, Dean walks over to the other side of the car and opens the passenger side. _I hope I don’t need to take him to the ER_. 

The bony chattering of Sam’s teeth snapping against each other makes Dean wince as he crawls up beside Sam on the front seat. Laying his hands on Sam’s shirts, Dean lifts Sam’s layers up and looks at the dressing on the gunshot wound. There’s no visible sign of the wound festering. No rank smell of decay. 

Pulling the dressing off, slowly and carefully, Dean doesn’t know what he expects to find. Staring down at a fully healed Sam, with just stitches sticking out of the side him? Dean did not think that was what he would find. 

“Dude, the wound’s healed.” Dean pulls Sam’s tops up as he continues to shiver. “There’s just the stitches.” 

“The.. hell?” Sam leans up on his arms and looks down at his side. A little gasp of surprise escapes him before he falls back down against the seat, still shivering. “It’s… gone.” 

“Uh, yeah. Here.” Dean helps Sam to sit and get into one of Dean’s old hoodies. Maybe Dean can’t help smiling as Sam seems to bury his face in the fabric and breathe in Dean’s scent. Wrapping a blanket around Sam, turning him into an oversized burrito, Dean gives Sam a gentle kiss on top of his head. The shivering seeming to die down in its intensity, Dean closes the passenger door and gets back in the driver’s seat. 

Dean whacks the heater on full blast. Sam nuzzles into Dean’s shoulder and if Dean wasn’t so worried about what could possibly be wrong with Sam— _this just shows how fucked up our lives are if I’m questioning a healed bullet wound_ —then he would be enjoying this closeness. Instead he catches a glimpse of Sam’s eyes in the rearview mirror— _are they bluer than usual?_

“What’s wrong... with me?” Sam asks, teeth still chattering a little. 

“I don’t know, Sammy. But we’re gonna figure this out.” Dean dances with the speed limit as they continue their way back to the Bunker. 

***

The Bunker is its usual cool to tepid temperature and so Dean’s got Sam curled up on his memory foam mattress, swaddled in blankets. There’s a hot mug of cocoa clasped between Sam’s now gloved hands and a beanie on his head. Before giving Sam his hot drink, Dean had found a thermometer and taken his temperature. It was 94oF—more than a risk for hypothermia, but Sam’s lips aren’t blue. There’s no weird bruising appearing on his skin that would indicate that his blood is starting to become too thick due to the lack of heat. 

If Dean were a doctor, hadn’t taken Sam’s temperature and didn’t know about the bullet hole he’d been sporting less than a day ago: he’d probably say the whole thing is psychosomatic. Watching Sam trying to keep his hands still as he takes a sip of cocoa, Dean struggles to think of what could be wrong with Sam. He’s already checked for hex bags and tested for curses, tested for lycanthropy but he’s come up with zilch. Flitting through the Bunker library’s few tomes on magical ailments hasn’t brought up anything that sounds quite like what is going on with Sam either. 

Sitting by his desk while Sam sips his cocoa, Dean wishes he had someone else to talk to about this, but there’s literally no one, now, who he can talk to about this kind of thing. He’s pretty damn sure Billie won’t give him the time of day, there’s no way Missouri will know what’s going on— _just not her sort of thing_ —and all that leaves him with is Crowley. And that’s one son of a bitch that Dean doesn’t wanna waste his time tracking down. _Though speaking of sons of bitches…_

“You don’t suppose Metadouche might know what’s up?” Dean thinks out loud, looking over at Sam. 

A shiver passes through Sam and Dean can’t tell if his brother is shrugging underneath all the blankets he’s wrapped around him. “May… be? Cas,” and that’s definitely a flinch from Sam as he says Cas’s name, “left him… in Omaha, Nebraska.” 

“In traction… Still, he’s probably back on the road now. Being a douche. I could track him down…” But Dean already knows he can’t take Sam with him like this and he can’t leave him alone in the Bunker either. Definitely not alone, not with the memories of what Lucifer did. 

“I’ll… be… fine,” Sam says through chattering teeth and then finishes his hot cocoa. 

Snorting, Dean gets up from his chair and takes Sam’s empty mug from him before he can drop it. “Yeah… I wouldn’t call this fine. This is light years from fine. Look, I’ll, at least try to track Metatron down, find out where he was hospitalized. And then we can go from there.” 

Nodding and shaking at the same time, Sam gives Dean a weak smile. 

“Alright, I’ll be back in a minute. Might as well bring the laptop in here. Settle down and try to get some shut-eye, okay?” 

Sam nods again and lays back on the bed, curling up and trying to trap whatever warmth he can to himself. Closing his eyes, Sam tries to do as he’s told and attempts to empty his mind of all thought. He must have been tired, because it doesn’t take him long to drift off to sleep. 

He’s back in the cabin. Crowley is sipping a cup of tea while sitting on a counter. The cabin looks less shabby than when they reached it originally, but Sam doesn’t connect that this is his memory, twisted into something else. There’s no bullet wound. No blood sticky and wet. 

“What are you doing here?” Sam asks picking up his own cup of tea as he sits on a counter opposite Crowley’s. 

Rolling his eyes, Crowley sips from his cup and swings his legs. “Oh, you know, polite conversation. That sort of thing.” 

With everything that had happened with Corbin and the other werewolves, Sam hadn’t gotten round to telling Dean about what had happened when he came to back in that cabin. How Crowley had been there. 

Sun shines outside the cabin. The air inside is thick with the smell of blood and decay. It all feels more real than a dream has any right to and it’s making Sam’s skin crawl. He considers that the dream is possibly a side effect of whatever he’s going on with his body. 

“You really should try the tea,” Crowley almost simpers. 

Peering at the contents of the simple porcelain cup, Sam decides it just looks like regular, black tea. Nothing special. Sam shrugs and takes a sip. As he drinks, he feels the liquid go down his throat and it doesn’t feel like tea. It feels viscous and cold. He shivers and looks up at Crowley with startled eyes. The light seems bluer than before, like the room is impossibly bright. 

“Crow—” 

“Just so you know, if there’s anything you need— _no_ —want to talk about: I’ll always lend an ear.” 

Sam’s skin feels like it’s covered in ice, the sub zero temperature burning all the way through to his bones. He drops the tea cup and it smashes on the cabin floor. 

Eyes springing open, Sam makes out that he’s still in Dean’s bed. His skin still feels like it’s being burned by an invisible cold and he thrashes under the blankets piled on him. Dean’s not in the room and Sam can feel himself panicking as he tries to move, tries to escape the pain. “DEAN!” 

Booted feet thud along the corridor outside the bedroom and suddenly Dean’s there, rushing over to the bed, laying hands on Sam and trying to help him out of the blankets. “Woah, what’s wrong?!” 

“It burns!” Sam hisses in pain, the icy cold firing through his bones. It feels cold and not cold at the same time, like fire and ice. “Crowley’s tea burns!” 

Somewhere he hears wood shaking and books toppling, but he’s in too much pain to pay it much heed or care about the faint hint of sulfur in the air. Dean’s shouting something at Sam, but he can hardly hear him, ears feeling like his head is being held underwater. Sweat covers his brow and slicks his clothing to his skin. A wave of dizziness seizes Sam and then he falls back down against the bed as everything goes black. 

***

The last time Dean had seen Sam seize like that would have been back in Colorado, when Sam was near dead from the trials to close Hell, as they looked for Metatron. But this time was different. This time the room had moved with Sam and Dean would tidy up at some point, pick up the things Sam had broken and fix what he could. This time: Sam’s eyes had shone bluish-white, like Castiel’s when the angel is all graced up and feeling like he’d smite someone. If his brother’s glowing blue eyes hadn’t been a big enough clue, then the muttering of Crowley’s name and the hint of sulfur had been enough to make Dean leave Sam in his bed after he got his temperature down. How Crowley got into the Bunker, Dean does not know, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a bronze bowl filled with tasty treats on a table and Dean’s gonna summon the swarmy bastard right back and have a little chat in their dungeon. 

Dropping a match into the contents of the bowl and setting them aflame, Dean chants, “Et ad congregandom, Eos coram me… get your ass here, Crowley.” 

“Why, Dean… Long time no see.” Crowley’s standing behind Dean, clear of the Devil’s Trap on the floor. The demon’s in his usual dark, tailored suit, though appearing a touch more rumpled than usual. 

“Yeah and I wish we could have kept to our separate fronts. But you know how it is, Crowley,” Dean snarls, advancing on the demon, “when your brother looks like he’s full of grace and he’s mouthing off about the King of Hell—you gotta call him up.” Within a heartbeat, there’s an angel blade in Dean’s hand, pointed at Crowley’s throat. “Know anything about that?” 

Crowley looks a little afraid, but not as much as Dean would have expected. There’s a resentful acceptance in his stance and the tilt of his head. Like Dean could threaten to make Crowley eat his own entrails and he would shrug and get on with it. _He’s got nothing left to lose_. Dean drops the blade from Crowley’s throat and waits for an answer. 

Sighing and gently stepping away from Dean so as he can walk around the dungeon—not touching the trap, stepping over the iron chains bolted to the floor—Crowley looks thoughtful. “It’s funny, you calling me “King of Hell”. I haven’t been called that since Lucifer crashed the party.” 

“Oh, boo-hoo! Cry me a fucking river! What have you done to Sam?” Dean shouts across the space, voice echoing off the bare walls. 

Circling the room, Crowley keeps his distance. “He kept me in a kennel and made me clean the throne room floor with my tongue! MY TONGUE!” And there’s a bit of the old Crowley back, indignation burning bright. 

“What have you done to Sam?!” Dean demands again. 

“It’s more of an art than a science… but I think the results will be worth the risk.” 

“Crowley,” Dean bites out, vision starting to go red as he feels fear and anger over just what Crowley could have done to his brother. 

The former King of Hell doesn’t get a chance to respond, his body instead lifts up into the air and is slammed into a wall on the opposite side of the room. Crowley looks like he’s being pushed up against the plain plaster by invisible iron bars, limbs contorting and slowly being crushed by an almighty weight. 

“S—am,” Crowley garbles out, “gla—d you… coul-d join us,” voice high as if his throat is being constricted. 

Spinning round, Dean sees Sam at the dungeon door, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, eyes glowing ever so slightly, right hand reaching out. He looks better, there’s no sweat shining on his face. But at the same time he’s got Crowley pinned up against a wall and the look of fury on Sam’s features makes even Dean shrink back a little. 

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!” Sam bellows at Crowley, advancing on the demon. 

“Just… gave… you… w—hat… you needed to… get… feathers… back… maybe even… deal with… Amara,” Crowley wheezes out. 

Dean stays silent, unsure what he should do, can do. 

“Answer the question!” Sam snaps. 

“Just… a little… cocktail… three parts… g—race… and… one… part hand of… God… just what… every growing… b—oy... needs,” Crowley explains and then suddenly he’s sprawled on the floor. 

Rushing over to Sam, Dean hesitates and then touches Sam on the shoulder, squeezing it. Reassuring himself just as much Sam. “Where’d you get any of that from?” Dean asks. 

Sitting up, Crowley leans against the wall and rubs at his neck. “Stocked up... in case of a rainy day,” Crowley answers, voice tight from having his throat crushed. 

Dean gives Crowley a perplexed look and Crowley rolls his eyes. “I stockpiled in case Castiel didn’t get his groove back. And hands of God? ‘Course I’ve got some of those tucked away. A few of them may have been executive paperweights until now.” Crowley shrugs. “But all that combined? Better than demon blood for the _Boy King_.” 

Dean feels Sam flinch at the name “Boy King”. 

“And if you can get Lucifer out of Castiel? Then there’s a veritable smorgasbord of power right there for the taking. Just desserts right? Consuming your tormentor?” 

“This isn’t about saving the world, this is revenge for you, isn’t it?” Sam asks, fury hardly concealed as he breathes short, sharp angry breaths. 

“HE MADE ME CLEAN THE FLOOR WITH MY TONGUE!” Crowley yells, some of his old self coming back. 

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that,” Dean drawls out. 

Just as sudden as Sam’s rage had surfaced, now it leaves. Dean only just manages to react as Sam’s legs give out and he has to help Sam slide to the floor. Tiny tremors wrack Sam and Dean knows he’s only just managing not to cry. 

“You… you poisoned me,” Sam hisses at Crowley. 

“Oh please, that crap is nothing like drinking gallons of demon blood. Hardly any side effects.” 

“Except for glowing blue eyes,” Dean points out. _And everything else._

“Except for glowing blue eyes. Fair. You can have that… But don’t you see? We’ve got a chance now.” 

“How did you even know this might work?” Dean asks as Sam tries not to cry beside him. 

“Well, a little bird told me someone had gotten their mojo back. The rest’s an art. Like I said.” 

“Yeah, well I can’t be bothered with finesse right now,” Sam spits out and then flings Crowley into the Devil’s Trap with a flick of his wrist. “But you can stay.” Another flick of his wrist and Sam makes the iron chains that are bolted to the floor fly up and clasp Crowley, locking in place. “And don’t worry, we won’t ask you to clean the floor with your tongue,” Sam hisses. 

Helping Sam to his feet, Dean follows his brother out of the dungeon and locks the door behind them. Dean wouldn’t mind having a go at Crowley himself, but something tells him he needs to handle Sam first.


	17. Chapter 17

“How you feeling?” Dean asks for what must be the millionth time. 

Shaking his head, Sam takes another sip of water, trying to will his body to feel like his own again. He feels like he’s stuffed into too small a space, body unable to fully contain him. Even the kitchen feels too small. And every beat of his heart and Dean’s, every breath: he can’t stop hearing it. Can’t stop feeling the ripple of air molecules as they’re displaced. The hairs all over his body move and shift, constantly drawing Sam away from the conversation. He can practically taste Dean in the air. 

“Hyperaware” doesn’t even begin to cover the way that Sam feels as he sits at the kitchen table. “I think I know how Cas felt when he stole that grace.” 

The regret Dean feels floods Sam as his brother’s guilt for that period of their lives rises up. Sam winces. 

“Maybe,” Dean begins, “you should try to see if you can block it out?” 

Nodding, Sam puts down his glass of water and closes his eyes. Focusing in on himself like Missouri taught him. Gently closing the gates to the sensations that are too much, like he would do with the thoughts of others. Sam’s unsure how long he’s in this half-meditative state, but after a while, he starts to feel a little more like himself. Doesn’t feel so thinly stretched. 

“Sam?” Dean asks, voice sounding far away. 

Opening his eyes, Sam looks at his brother and gives him a hopeful smile. 

Eyes wide with concern, Dean licks his lips and asks, “Better?” 

“Better.” Looking across the table to Dean, seeing his fond regard, Sam feels his heart melt a little. He’s still furious with Crowley and what he’s forced upon him, but for the first time in several days, Sam’s not dying or sick. 

“What do you wanna do?” Dean asks, drawing Sam away from admiring Dean’s lips. “I mean… do you want to see if we can get the grace out or, well you gonna keep it?” 

_He’s giving me a choice_. Sam tenses in his seat and frowns. _But… if I don’t… don’t take this chance then what about Cas? What about Amara? I’ll still have my own gifts for what it’s worth but…_ Sam can feel the power, the potential thrumming through himself… _I’ll be like an ant. We have a chance now_. 

“Keep it,” Sam finally replies. “With _this_ ,” Sam holds up his hand and gestures towards himself, “maybe we really have a chance of getting out of this mess. Save Cas. Stop Amara.” 

“But what if blue eyes and… some extra juice ain’t the only side effects?” Dean gets up from his seat and walks round to Sam. 

“I’ll be fine.” Not that Sam believes this. 

“Oh that’s bullcrap. You don’t know that. What if you… I dunno, start growing wings or something?” 

“Or I suddenly end up with seven heads?” Sam stands and wraps his arms around Dean as he recalls a discussion he’d once had with Castiel about the true forms of angels. 

The warmth and solidness of Dean is reassuring. Burying his face in the side of Dean’s neck, Sam breathes in Dean’s scent, nuzzling at his brother. Dean brings his hands up to Sam’s back and strokes him—the touch loving rather than patronizing. 

“If you had seven heads,” Dean mumbles into Sam’s shoulder, “no one could sneak up on you.” 

Sam chuckles and pulls Dean tight against his chest; in response, Dean buries his face against the side of Sam’s head. They stand there, holding each other, not asking the next logical question: if Sam were to keep the grace, would it be enough to fight Lucifer and bring Cas back? Could Sam really take Lucifer’s grace? 

“What if Crowley’s lying and he’s doing this for more than just revenge and saving the world? What if I burn through all this power and I… end up sicker than Cas did?” Sam whispers to the top of Dean’s head. 

“You’ll be fine,” Dean murmurs against Sam. 

“And now who’s talking bullcrap?” Sam asks, voice teasing and light. 

Dean shifts in his arms and looks up at Sam, then pushes forward, kissing Sam. Mouth open and demanding. _This is Dean trying to seek any kind of reassurance he can get and… any he can give_ , Sam thinks sadly. But the contact is welcome. Sam parts his lips and allows Dean entrance, and kisses back. There’s urgency behind their movements, neither of them knows what tomorrow will bring, but it’s not fuck or die. It’s living in the moment. 

Unwrapping from Sam, Dean leads the way to his bedroom. The sheets are changed and the mountain of blankets gone. Whatever Sam moved or broke earlier has been tidied away. Anticipation curls through Sam as Dean’s hands work to undress the two of them. They’re both naked soon enough, hard-ons pressing against each other’s stomachs as they kiss. Unsaid between them is the sense that the end is yet again ever fucking nigh and what is happening between them in Dean’s room right now is just a new variation of the same old formula. Sam tries not to reflect on all the nights not long before the hellhounds came for Dean, the nights where Dean would bury himself between some stranger’s legs. 

But there’s no doubt in Sam’s mind, as Dean gently pushes Sam down onto his bed, that Dean loves him very much and this is about having something while he still can. Unwelcome visitors in dungeons be damned. This is about being sure that Sam still returns the love and attraction that Dean’s kept hidden for years. _Making sure I’m still me_ , Sam decides as Dean climbs on top of him and starts kissing him again, _that what Crowley’s done hasn’t changed me_. 

In the low light of the room, Sam occasionally peeps his eyes open and takes in the gorgeous face next to his. Blurred freckles and short light brown hair. Wetly kissing for what seems like forever, cocks slickly rubbing against each other, Sam’s nerves are screaming for more. Past memories of the Dean from Gadreel’s fantasy flit through Sam’s mind and he wants so much more than feeling of this sweet velvety torture. 

Sam rolls Dean off of him and Dean can’t help gasping as his brother kisses his way down Dean’s stomach. Tongue flitting out here and there. Not that Dean has had much of a chance to find out about this side of Sammy, there’s still something encouraging about Sam still chasing this. _Wanting me, all of me_ , that reassures Dean that whatever’s going on, he still has Sam. Even if there is a chance Sam might have seven heads in the morning. 

Mouth reaching his cock, Dean gasps as Sam sinks down around him and takes him all the way into his mouth in one fluid motion— _where the hell has his gag reflex gone?_ Dean manages to question before an already lubed finger— _when the hell did Sam get the lube?_ —starts exploring his rim and stroking his hole. 

Then that wet heat is gone from his cock and Sam’s asking, “Do you _want me_?” Before sinking back down over Dean’s cock, finger exploring. 

“Fuck, yes, Sam! Want… Need. Just fuck me!” Dean begs, and then feels his balls tighten just a little at the sensation of Sam laughing around his cock. 

And now Dean can’t believe that he’s on the verge of being fucked by Sam. Can’t dare allow himself to believe, even though Sam’s now got one finger, first knuckle down and—make that all the way inside of him as Sam’s mouth continues to devour his cock. Not that Dean always wants to bottom, but if this is going to be their _first time_ then Dean is on board. On board to believe that they’ve finally moved past the starts and stops that have marked their relationship these past weeks. No one’s demanding they stop. 

The stretch of a second finger burns a little, but the discomfort quickly passes and Dean can’t help starting to fuck up into Sam’s mouth before fucking down onto Sam’s fingers. As Dean pulls away from Sam’s lips—the warm wetness made more tantalizing by Sam teasing his tongue along the underside of Dean’s length—Dean gasps and cries. The sounds quickly turn into moans as Dean pushes back down against Sam’s fingers, feeling the brush of digits against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside him. 

There’s a slick wet sound as Sam fully pulls off of Dean’s cock and looks up at him as he laps up a bead of pre-come from his tip. Desire and heat stare back up at Dean, the blueness of Sam’s irises alien, but near blocked out by Sam’s lust blown pupils—so big that Dean feels like he could fall into them. Sam slides his tongue just under Dean’s head, caressing, and there’s the sound of a bottle being uncapped and the fullness inside Dean suddenly leaves. 

“Sammmmm,” Dean huffs out—request or prayer? Dean’s unsure. He just wants that fullness back and then Sam answers him. Three fingers breach Dean and he shouts, not in pain, but in frustration. Rationally, he knows he needs to be prepared for what he knows will be Sam’s dick, but he hates how slowly this is all going. 

Sam’s mouth is swallowing him again, Dean reaches down and brushes Sam’s hair out of his face. Sucking harder than before, Dean bucks a little and whines. With three fingers up his ass and the wet tease of Sam’s mouth, Dean’s not sure he can last much longer. And what he really wants is to come on Sam’s cock, not down Sam’s throat. 

“C’mon… I can… take you,” Dean pants out. “Need your… cock, Sammy. Wanna come on your cock.” 

Pulling his mouth off of Dean again, Sam chuckles, fingers stroking inside Dean. “You want me to fuck you?” Sam asks, voice a little wrecked from blowing Dean. “Make you come on just my cock?” 

“Pretty sure, I just—aaaaahhh, ummmpf!” Dean cuts off as Sam curls his fingers inside him just that touch more. Making Dean want to push back down. 

Sam chuckles again and Dean can’t believe the enjoyment Sam’s getting from teasing him like this, the playfulness that’s there—or he would if he could think about anything other than the sudden emptiness as Sam’s fingers leave him. And Dean unabashedly whimpers, which Sam must feel something for, because his mouth’s on Dean’s lips, body straining over him. Salty and sweet. 

Gently, Sam flips Dean over, making him raise his hips into the air. The blunt pressure of Sam’s cockhead pushes against Dean’s stretched hole as he slowly enters him. _Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!_ Until Sam bottoms out. Dean doesn’t get a chance to reflect that a thousand wet dreams have just come true for him, because Sam doesn’t leave him long to adjust to his sizeable length. Easing steadily back, though Dean is sure Sam’s thighs must be trembling a little, Sam almost pulls out of Dean and then pushes gently back in. 

Out. In. Slow. Steady. “Christ,” Dean moans. 

Straining against the urge to just rut, not wanting to hurt Dean, Sam marvels at the gorgeous sight of himself disappearing inside of his brother. The tight, impossible heat that is Dean surrounding him. Being inside Dean for real is so much better than anything Gadreel made him experience. A million more times satisfying than the flights of his own imagination. 

The impossible fullness of Sam inside Dean, the press of Sam’s head against his prostate, feels impossibly good. Coherent thought starts to leave Dean as Sam’s pace picks up. Hips thrusting. In, out, in, out, in, out. Making Dean ooze pre-come over his bed spread. Speed and depth just perfectly balanced with the building pull in Dean’s balls, the tightening of his stomach muscle, that tells him he won’t last. Can’t last with his beautiful brother fucking him for the first time. 

And a thought manages to form, enables Dean to realize that he gets to have this. That Sam wants him. Wants him bad enough to be balls deep inside him. A strangled cry works its way of Dean and he’s begging Sam, a torrent of love and filth whispering past his lips as his dreams come true. Praise and wonder accompanies Dean, as Sam murmurs his own prayer as they make love. 

The solidness of Dean beneath Sam’s hands, makes Sam want to bend over Dean’s back and lay kisses down Dean’s spine. So Sam does and as he thrusts and kisses, tasting Dean’s musk, Sam keeps his hands from curling around Dean and seizing his cock. Gadreel’s mind games had nothing on this. 

In, out, in, out, in, out— “FUCK, SAMMY!” Dean shouts, balls tensing as he finally comes, shooting over the bed as Sam’s cock milks him. 

“So good, Dean! Shit… SO GOOD. FUCK!” Sam cries and spills into Dean, making Dean’s oversensitized hole clench. 

Hips finally slowing, Sam tries to get his balance to pull out and instead the two of them collapse on their sides. Sam’s cock finally pops out of Dean. 

They should probably clean up or something, but Dean doesn’t care as he wraps his arms around Sam and kisses the top of his hair. There’s a new smell alongside the zingy apple of Sam’s shampoo, like ozone, but Dean can only just pick it up. At some point Sam must give up on them getting washed, because he pulls the covers over the two of them, allowing Dean to relish holding Sam in his arms without letting go. 

Sleep finds them soon enough, their house guest never once crossing their minds.


	18. Chapter 18

Dawn is nowhere on the horizon. Sam’s sneakers pound the tarmac leading up and away from the Bunker. He managed about three hours sleep before wakefulness, the grace demanded that he just get the hell up and forget about sleep. There’s a note beside Dean’s bed in case he gets worried and wakes up wondering where Sam’s gotten to. It’s still dark, but Sam can see where he’s going, vision heightened by the grace Crowley’s stuffed into him. 

The run hadn’t been uneventful: about twenty minutes in, Sam had felt the ground tremble as, something _powerful_ had directed itself at Heaven. He had his suspicions about who— _Amara_ —and had been content to not go rushing off to Dean, because they still didn’t have a real plan. Keeping his pace steady, Sam continues to run and tries to decide whether he should suck Lucifer dry and free Castiel. 

_And that’s if he… if Cas wants us to help him_ , which Sam is having doubts about. Sam had never pointed out the obvious to Dean: that the seraph would have had to given Lucifer permission to occupy him. _What if Cas doesn’t want us to help him? And do I… do I want to, I dunno, end Lucifer? Can I even do that? I don’t exactly feel like trusting Crowley’s faith in his “art”_. But beside all of this, Sam knows that Dean is powerless to end Amara, because of the connection he’s confessed to before. 

Stopping to catch his breath, which feels more like it’s out of habit than anything else (it doesn’t feel like it’s out of need), Sam feels a distant tug at his senses. There’s a familiarity to it, like he’s met the presence before. A womanly chuckle wrings its way through Sam’s mind and he straightens up to take in his surroundings. The voice behind it is high and— 

“Rowena?” Sam calls aloud towards some pines that line the side of the road. Despite how much Sam had been pushing himself, there’s hardly any sweat running down his skin. 

Apprehension isn't something Sam feels as Rowena steps out from the trees. Her hair is styled to perfection and she’s wearing a tight midnight blue dress with diamante effect silver detail so she looks almost like she could be wearing a slice of the night’s sky. 

“Well, look at you,” Rowena greets, accent from a land Sam and Dean have only visited once. “You’re just all sorts right now, aren’t you?” 

Sam rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “Just get to the point. You’re not here to talk about my health.” 

“Och, I have a special place in my heart for you, Sammy.” 

The use of “Sammy” makes Sam visibly flinch and behind Rowena the trees suddenly groan louder as they bend from what must be more than just a strong breeze. Rowena swallows loudly and Sam wishes he was back in bed with Dean. Lying awake with Dean in his arms is a million times more preferable to encountering Crowley’s mother while on a pre-dawn run. 

“Soooo… What’s new with you?” Rowena asks in a theatrically casual voice. 

“I think you know what’s new with me, Rowena. You’re here, after all. So why don’t you just cut the small talk and talk to me about why you’re _really_ here.” 

Rowena shifts her right hand, the movement almost imperceptible, it’s so fast and well-practiced. Sam’s reaction is automatic, his right hand flies out in front of him and stops the hex bag Rowena has thrown. Letting the pouch of harmful magical items hang in midair. 

“The rumors are true…” Rowena says quietly. “The “Boy King” is back. Or whatever that means. I don’t rightly know, of course.” 

Involuntarily flinching at the use of “Boy King”, Sam repeats, “Of course,” voice low. “You… don’t have anything to do with Crowley’s visit, then?” Where Crowley’s earlier use of the term had been ironic, as the demon wanted Hell back, here Sam isn’t so sure. 

“Fergus is here?” Rowena’s voice goes high as she asks, like she normally does when she’s trying to act all nonchalant. 

_This is stupid_. Sam flicks his wrist and the hex bag turns to a reddish dust that drifts to the ground. “You know he’s here. But that’s not why you’re here, is it? Look, you should just forget this Boy King crap.” 

Rowena’s eyes track the dust as it falls and settles, preternatural eyesight clearly a perk for her too. Flicking her gaze back to Sam, he feels like he can see a hunger there. A hunger for power, not that Rowena wants his power, but just wants the chance to be associated with it. _Like she did with Lucifer_ , and that thought leaves Sam’s skin crawling. 

“But Sam… You’re like a beacon shining in the darkness. Dazzling and beautiful,” and there’s that awe in her voice, like she’d had with Lucifer, “power is practically radiating off of you.” 

“So you’re like a moth being drawn to a flame,” Sam summarizes and crosses his arms across his chest. “And?” 

It’s a brief moment, but for half a second, Rowena draws in on herself, her facade of pride and willfulness giving away to a vulnerability that’s rarely given light. Then it’s gone and Rowena stands resolute and determined, meeting Sam’s eyes. 

“And perhaps I have a wee update on Amara. But if you’re not interested…” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “This had better be good.” 

***

Things Dean would rather never be woken up by include: a cat sitting on this face; the apocalypse; Crowley’s mother talking loudly as Sam makes her a cup of tea in the kitchen. 

Right now, as he walks, wearing a hastily thrown on t-shirt and jeans, ass aching a little, Dean is wishing that an actual cat had woken him. Having Rowena walking and talking inside the Bunker is just too fucking much for first thing in the morning. _I do not get paid enough to deal with this crap_. 

“Oh, hello there, Dean,” Rowena coos from the table. “Fancy a cup of tea?” Rowena motions to a large teapot, _and since when do we have a massive blue teapot?_

“No, thanks. Coffee will do me just fine,” Dean replies and eyes Sam who’s still dressed in running gear. “I thought your note said you went out for a run? Not a witch relay.” 

Full-on bitchface is achieved in two seconds flat. “It wasn’t my intention to run into Rowena,” Sam grits out. 

“Fine. But I’m serious about that cup of coffee.” Dean wanders over to the coffee maker and pours himself a cup, keeping Rowena in his field of vision, because there is no way he’s turning his back on her. 

The lack of iron on Rowena is disconcerting to say the least. Taking his cup of coffee and sitting opposite Rowena, Dean gives his biggest fake smile. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Well, I do have some insight as to where God’s sister is. I figure that buys me a place at the table.” Rowena gives Dean a falsely innocent smile and sips at her cup of tea. 

_Of course you do, of fucking course_. “And?” 

Giving Dean an unimpressed glare, Rowena sips her tea again before answering, “And a few more fleeting details. But the main thing is I know where Amara is. I can track her.” 

“You know,” Dean starts pointing a finger at Rowena from across the table, “I bet the only reason you know where she is and all that crap is because you’ve been helping her. And now you’re here to double-cross her… and probably double-cross us in the process.” 

“You wound me, Dean,” Rowena simpers, placing a hand lightly on her chest. 

“Doesn’t matter if you do know where Amara is,” Sam interjects, stepping up to the table, body so close to Dean’s that Dean can smell him. Sam looks between Rowena and Dean. “We don’t have enough juice to take her on.” 

“Oh, but if you… handle Lucifer then we should be able to… give it the ol’ college try, as they say?” 

Dean glares at Rowena. “Not you too. Crowley was spilling some crap about Sam stealing his grace.” 

That turns Rowena’s smile into a frown. “He did now, did he?” 

“Does it matter? Dean, watch her. I’ll get changed and go grab Crowley, then maybe we can come up with something resembling a plan.” 

“You want him _and_ her in the same room?” Dean asks, aghast. 

“They can’t really _do_ anything,” Sam shoots back. The way he says it leaves Dean wondering quite what he means, but he doesn’t ask any more questions as Sam wanders off. 

Returning his gaze to Rowena, Dean finds the witch is looking thoughtfully at him. He looks away and sips some more of his coffee. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up and he really doesn’t like the way Rowena is looking at him. 

“So, how long have… you know… the two of you… been doing unspeakable things with each other?” Rowena innocently takes a sip of tea and stares at Dean with big eyes. 

_Oh we are not… No… How the hell does she know?_ “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Of course you don’t, sweetie.” 

“I am not, nor will I ever be _sweetie_ ,” Dean shoots back. 

A grin spreads across Rowena’s face, making her look like the cat that’s got the cream. “You know, such… appetites aren’t _wrong_ , per se—” 

“We are not talking about this, Rowena. You can talk about almost anything else under the sun, but this.” 

Rowena leans across the table, looks up at Dean and says quietly, “I remember being in an orgy once. There were these two brothers who wouldn’t stop monopolizing me… and each other.” 

Dean closes his eyes and wishes he was back in bed. 

***

It seems pointless having a shower, but Sam does it anyway. He hadn’t really sweated at all while he’d been out running. The grace inside him is most likely responsible for this, but he tries not to worry about what it might mean. Tries not to think what it means to have a ground up hand of God inside of him as well. 

The water feels good as it pounds into Sam’s skin. Sensation making him feel just that touch more human. Soaping himself up and rubbing his hands over his skin, Sam can’t help thinking about the night before. About having Dean all around him. The tight heat that had been Dean and how right it had felt. Sam reaches a hand down to his cock and finds that he’s fully hard. _Yeah… still human_. 

Wrapping a hand around his length, wanting to mellow himself out enough to handle what was undoubtedly going to be a demanding day, Sam starts to pump his cock. He sees Dean’s lips wrapped around him, sucking him down, glimmering green eyes looking up at him. 

There’s a spluttering breath in front of Sam and his hand is suddenly replaced by a mouth. _Oh fuck…_ Sam opens his eyes and looks down to find a drenched, fully clothed, Dean staring back up at him. 

Apparently Sam needs to learn how to control himself. 

***

“So you’re saying, what, we summon Lucifer, trap him and then what… Sam convinces Cas to kick Lucifer out; Sam siphons Lucifer off, stealing his grace and then…?” Dean looks at Crowley. He’s dry now and in a fresh set of clothes, but Dean knows his face is still a little red. Sam had apologized again and again, but Dean knows that Crowley and Rowena must have both heard the commotion. 

“Then we scarper before Amara turns up, because there’s no way Sam will be ready to smite her, and she’ll get wind of something like this,” Crowley explains, appearing to struggle to keep his face neutral. _Oh yeah, they heard_. 

“How do I even “siphon” Lucifer’s power off?” Sam rubs nervously at the back of his neck. 

Crowley closes his eyes and takes a moment, before replying, “If you can… get squirrel into the shower with a thought, then you’ll have no problem. Just _grab hold of it_ and rip it away from him.” 

Brow creasing, Sam tilts his head, worry clear. “What if I can’t convince Cas to kick Lucifer out?” asks Sam, straightening in his seat. “What then?” 

Crowley raises an eyebrow and pouts. “Well, you could just… Steal his grace anyway.” 

“And leave Lucifer rattling around inside Cas? No thanks.” Sam nervously crosses his arms. 

“I’m sure Castiel will agree to showing Lucifer the door once he realizes that there’s a new sheriff in town.” Crowley shrugs. “He’d be a fool not to.” 

The idea of Amara suddenly showing up leaves Dean feeling cold. Under the table, Sam slides a hand onto Dean’s knee and gives him a reassuring squeeze. 

“We’re not bringing Lucifer here,” Dean points out. “And if it all goes wrong… shouldn’t we at least try to put Lucifer back in the Cage?” 

Rowena nods. “I can certainly take care of that aspect of the plan.” 

“Like you did last time,” Dean mutters under his breath. 

“Sorry, dear, what was that?” Rowena asks, having not heard Dean. 

“I said: is now the time?” 

“The time what?” 

“To do this?” 

Crowley gets up from his seat. “There’s no point in waiting… I know a place we can do this and I have the perfect bait.” 

And now everything is happening. It’s happening too fast for Dean. After months of being in the dark. Weeks of chasing their tails, they suddenly have something resembling a plan. Taking a moment to think this all through, he realizes that Sam’s going to be facing Lucifer again. If there’s something Dean would give anything for, it would be that Sam didn’t have to be in the same room as that asshole again. But Dean isn’t Sam. He can’t take on this responsibility in Sam’s place. 

_But I wish I could_. 

Everything’s automatic as Dean loads up the Impala with extra holy oil and the crap they need to summon Lucifer. He’s just going through the motions. At the edge of his mind is the fear that always comes when the odds are uncertain. Suddenly the car’s packed and Dean needs to go and get the others so they can get this show on the road. The garage is quiet bar the gentle hum of the massive lights that hang from the ceiling. 

Pulling his cell out of his pocket, Dean dials Missouri’s number and waits as it rings. On the third ring Missouri answers. 

“I was wondering when you were gonna call,” Missouri greets, concern clear. “So… Sam’s part angel at the moment, right? And you’re about to head off on some suicide mission—am I missing anything?” 

A quiet chuckle works its way out of Dean and maybe his eyes are a little wet. “Well, Sam and I are currently in the company of the displaced King of Hell and one of the most powerful witches in the world.” 

“Is that all?” It’s Missouri’s turn to chuckle. “So in the shower—” 

Dean’s face reddens. “We are not discussing that. End of discussion.” 

Missouri chuckles again. “You still owe me Thanksgiving. Come back in one piece.” 

There’s no worry behind Missouri’s words, just a request. One that Dean’s a little more hopeful that they have a chance at achieving now. Only a little, mind.


	19. Chapter 19

Crowley’s giving directions from the front seat as Sam sits in the back of the Impala with Rowena. Dread also sits with Sam—he gave up hoping for a vision of what was going to happen to them about two hours ago. But if he zones out just right he can see five seconds into the future and it turns out that knowing every snarky thing Rowena or Crowley is going to say, before they say it, is not fun. They’ve already picked up the “bait” Crowley mentioned.

Beams of golden sunlight warm the car and Sam tries to ignore a growing voice in his head that’s saying over and over: _you can’t end Lucifer, and you know it_. He doesn’t know either way, but allowing himself to believe that there’s a chance he could end one of his biggest tormentors? It’s too much to hope for and he’s not sure what kind of person it makes him if he hopes for revenge here.

“Yo, Earth to Sam,” Dean calls over his shoulder, “you with us?”

“Sorry, what?” Sam comes back from his thoughts and looks at the back of Dean’s head.

“I asked if you’d had any of your visions.”

“Uh, I can’t see very far ahead at the moment,” Sam explains lamely.

Rowena nods to herself. “Yes, that makes sense. If I had my bones with me, I’d probably be getting uncertain readings from them too.”

Clearing his throat, Crowley throws a look back at the two of them and then glances over at Dean. “We’re reaching a crossroads, a figurative one, the future’s undecided. But that just means we need to push our advantage. Send Lucifer packing.”

No one has a reply to that and the conversation dies. Sam looks out his window and watches the passing landscape and few other vehicles on the road. Beneath most of his thoughts and awareness is the continued thrum of power from the concoction Crowley had forced him to consume. Sam could allow himself to feel anger over it, but he knows it would achieve very little of use here and now. So rather than starting to hurl insults at Crowley; rather than making Crowley feel pain like he hasn’t in a long time—Sam stays quiet and waits for when he’s needed. Thinks about how he’s going to tackle Lucifer and drag him out of Cas.

Sam must have zoned out, because they’re soon pulling up outside a church that’s been closed for restoration work. The exterior is weathered, stone work looking like it’s seen better days but it doesn’t look like it’ll fall down just this second. There’s still stained glass windows in its walls. The four of them are silent as they get out of the Impala, gather the necessary tools and head on into the church.

It’s weird, working silently together to lay out what they need to summon and trap Lucifer. Maybe Crowley and Rowena shoot each other mean comments, but Sam’s tuning them out. Dean works alongside Sam and it’s him who Sam keeps his attention focused on. He has to focus on Dean, if he doesn’t then Lucifer wearing Castiel’s meat swarms into his mind’s eye and it’s enough to make Sam feel like he wants to run. So he dogs Dean’s heels as he sprays warding onto the floor.

“Woah, Sammy, you could take a guy’s eye out with that thing!” Dean warns as Sam almost takes his head off with a large, hardwood cross.

Lowering the cross to the floor, Sam rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Rowena and Crowley are squared away on some seats, quietly assembling a summoning spell in bronze bowl, paying them no attention.

Straightening up, Dean chucks the spray can into a duffel and steps over to Sam. Before Sam knows what’s happening there’s emerald green eyes getting closer to him and then Dean’s lips are on his.The kiss is light and makes Sam realize that his heart is pounding fast in his chest.

Dean pulls the two of them into an alcove and kisses Sam some more. Dean’s eager lips quickly work Sam’s mouth open and Sam quietly moans in response as he lets their tongues caress each other. Gently sliding his hands up under Sam’s shirts, Dean strokes Sam’s back. The kiss doesn’t get any more heated—Dean’s working to calm Sam and make sure his nerves don’t get them killed.

Breaking the kiss, Dean nuzzles at Sam’s jaw and lets out a long breath. “It’s funny, this morning you summoned me into a shower while you’re jerking off.”

“I call that embarrassing,” Sam whispers back.

“Funny to me… after I got over the initial shock and dried off.”

Sam kisses the side of Dean’s forehead. “Why are we even talking about this?”

“Well,” Dean holds a hand over Sam’s heart, “it got you to calm down.”

The kiss that Sam gives Dean in answer—all tongue, grabby hands and not so subtle rutting—makes his toes curl inside his boots and Dean desperately wishes that they weren’t just about to summon Lucifer. _Great timing, Winchesters, as ever. Takes life and death to really bring us out of our shells_.

“If you two are quite done necking, we’re ready to summon Lucifer,” Crowley calls impatiently.

 _Of course you’re ready now!_ Dean and Sam disengage from each other and take a second before they walk out of the alcove. “Sooo,” Dean starts as they walk over to the terrible two, “we ready to get this show on the road?”

“We were ready five minutes ago,” Crowley hisses, “but mother insisted the two of you needed your alone time.”

“Oh, Fergus, if you can’t desecrate a church a little when you have the chance then what is the point of life?” Rowena looks them over with a deceptively innocent smile.

“Again, we are not talking about this,” Dean explains and heads over towards the bowl. “So, where’s the bait?”

Crowley picks up something wrapped in cracked leather and brings it over to Dean. “Here,” the demon unwraps the leather and reveals an animal horn. “Horn of Joshua.”

“Hand of God,” Sam whispers. His eyes are wide as he stares at the horn, like he can see something that Dean doesn’t.

“You can see something?” Dean looks between Sam and the horn.

“Yeah, thing’s practically glowing with power.”

“Okay… now that we have the bait, let’s get this over and done with.” Dean picks up the bowl and puts it down on a table by the warding he had painted onto the floor, taking care not to stand in the Holy Oil circle they have down around the symbols.

Everyone takes their positions, Sam standing by the warding and waiting to set the oil on fire. Dean lights a match and tosses it into the bowl and starts reading an enchantment on parchment, not stumbling over a single word.

The church shakes as thunder cracks overhead and then Lucifer is there, in the circle. Sam lights a match and chucks it into the oil and a ring of fire ignites around Lucifer as Castiel’s eyes stare back at them—cruel and hard.

“I'm sorry. Your prayer implied that I'd be... joining the team, but I'm just not feeling the warm and fuz—” Lucifer’s words are cut off as Rowena parts the flames to let Sam in. Dean watches Sam step into the circle and his heart is in his throat as he looks between the body of his friend and the tense form of his brother. “Wow, Sammy, this is unexpected. So close and intimate, but you know I’m really not feeling the love right now, so…”

Sam squares his shoulders and looks Lucifer in the eye, and Dean hopes he’s ignoring the face Lucifer’s wearing, ignoring any panic that might be building in his chest. “I want to talk to Cas.”

“Y’know, there’s something different about you Sam,” Lucifer points a finger at Sam. “I just can’t quite put my finger on what.”

“Let me,” Sam puts his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, “talk to Castiel.” Their eyes close and their heads slump forward. Dean doesn’t know what’s happening.

***

“Is it going to be all right?”

“It's going to be all right!”

“Ha, ha, ha, oh, you bet! Dear friends, it is going to be alright. It's going to be alright tonight.”

The voices sound like they’re coming through a television set with crap reception. Sam’s in the Bunker. Or he’s in Castiel’s construct of the Bunker. The walls seem slightly closer together than they are in reality, the ceilings just a touch lower. Maybe it would be claustrophobic, but instead the space feels safe and warm. A sanctuary— _this is how Cas sees the Bunker_ , Sam thinks as he follows the sound of the TV and comes to stand in the kitchen.

“Cas?” Sam calls, seeing the seraph sat in front of a crappy old TV set, fiddling with the aerials on top. The angel’s wearing his usual outfit of trench coat, dress shirt, askew tie, dress pants and five o’clock shadow.

Looking up at Sam, frowning in confusion, Cas says, “Sam, what are you doing here?”

Heading over to Cas, Sam puts a hand on the seraph. “We need you to kick Lucifer out.”

“Why?”

“We’ve got a better plan. We don’t need him now to defeat Amara.”

Castiel stands up and gets in Sam’s space, studying him. Sam wishes Cas would just agree and kick Lucifer out. “There’s something different about you, Sam… Is that how you were able to visit me?”

“It’s related, look, just kick Lucifer out and then Dean and I will tell you what we’re going to do about Amara.”

Cas frowns and tilts his head. “You really believe that you have a way to defeat Amara?”

“Yes, but we need you back, Cas. We need our _friend_ back. And we… want the psycho you have running around inside of you to get lost. So _please_ : expel Lucifer.”

“Yes, please expel Lucifer,” Lucifer crows as he walks into the kitchen wearing Nick, blue eyes glittering with malice. If Sam could feel his heart right now, he’d swear it’s trying to rip out of his chest. Lucifer bares his teeth. “Or you know: not. Just continue being an obedient little dog.”

That gets Castiel’s attention. Sam sees the change instantly. Some of the seraph’s old fire coming back as he stands straighter and narrows his gaze at Lucifer. Something’s snapped inside of Cas and Sam has the good sense to stand back as Castiel advances on Lucifer.

“You’re no closer to defeating Amara. This… isn’t a free ride. You are no longer welcome here. Get out!” Castiel demands, voice echoing beyond what it should for the space they’re in.

Lucifer’s face contorts in pain and he starts to glow a brilliant azure. Sam rushes over to him, acting on instinct. He grabs Lucifer’s right hand and joins the ride out.

It’s like strapping himself to the back of a comet. A comet that’s on fire and punching invisible hands all over his body. Yanking his hair out of his skull, leaving blood to run in rivulets down his remaining scalp. Gouging hot pokers into his chest and eyes so that Sam can smell his own flesh bubbling and cooking. Slicing skin and muscle from the backs of his calves. Sam would scream, but he isn’t out of Castiel’s head yet, this is him, holding onto Lucifer and trying to consume him.

“What a time to grow a spine, Sam,” Lucifer calls from all around him. “But it’s too little, too late. You still need me. You haven’t got a hope in hell of defeating Amara without me.”

“You’re half-right,” Sam shoots back and if he had control of his face right now he’d be giving Lucifer his patented “am I a serial killer or not?” smile. “But you’re not exactly going to have an active role anymore.”

“You’re almost right. Look, all you gotta say is yes, give me the Horn of Joshua and point in me in the right direction. So, what do you say, Sam?”

“No.” And with that Sam claws at the archangel’s essence and starts drawing Lucifer into himself. Lucifer’s screaming in his mind, swearing and cursing in Enochian. Swinging at Sam.

But it doesn’t help Lucifer stop Sam. Taking in all that raw power and tossing Lucifer aside, empty and broken, Sam finally opens his eyes. Distantly, Sam’s aware of Lucifer fluttering around like a bird with a broken wing, but as he takes in the church, the state of Lucifer doesn’t make Sam feel any better. He feels stuffed into his own body.

Ten feet away stands Amara and Dean’s at her side. Castiel is bleeding and holding onto the back of a seat, trying to get back to his feet. Somewhere, Sam can hear Crowley groaning. And there’s no sign of Rowena’s full head of red hair.

“Dean?” There’s no hiding the hurt in his voice. Just to Sam’s right is the Horn of Joshua.

“Sam… just… just do it.”

 _He’s too close_ , Sam thinks to himself, miserably. If he gets hands on the Horn there’s no clear way to fire at Amara without hurting Dean. Without killing Dean.

“Dean, I can’t.” But he can. The raw power of Lucifer’s grace mingles with the concoction Crowley had already given him. If he picks up the Horn, it’ll be like setting a taper to a fuse and there won’t be anything left once Sam’s done.

“You got to, Sammy,” Dean begs and Sam feels worse than when Dean chased him with a hammer. Feels worse than when he almost slit Dean’s throat open with Ruby’s knife.

“Just stop,” Amara orders, lips pursed in anger. Her dark, curling hair is pristine around her shoulders. Like she hardly broke a sweat while setting upon Crowley and Cas. “Give up.”

“No.” Sam flicks his right hand towards the Horn and it flies into it. Stretching out his left palm, Sam prays that Dean will survive. Hopes that none of this is going to be for nothing. He can feel the energy from the Horn travelling into him.

A hand lands on Sam’s right shoulder. “You don’t have to do this, Sam,” says a man’s voice he hasn’t heard in a long time.

_Chuck?_

The hand squeezes Sam’s shoulder.

“I got this, Sam. You can go back now.” Chuck steps forward and looks over at Sam. Chuck’s still short and has curly hair and a hell of a lot of scruff alongside his hoodie, jeans and sneakers. But there’s a calmness to him that Sam’s never seen in Chuck before.

“But…”

“We don’t have to end up here.” Chuck pats his shoulder. “ _See it all_. Know it. And write a different story.”

Sam’s vision goes black. Something heavy smashes into a wall and Sam wakes up from seeing everything.


	20. Chapter 20

Flicking the bedside lamp on, Sam tries to get the pounding in his head under control. A loud snore works its way out of Dean as his brother turns over in his motel bed. Sam looks over to the wall opposite the ends of their beds: there’s a bedside clock sticking out of the bottom of the wall.

It’s the motel they stayed in— _are staying in_ —at Grand Rapids, Michigan. Sam’s whole body is aching from the punches that Dean had thrown at him earlier in the day, while a Soul Eater possessed Dean’s body. There’s an empty bottle of whiskey beside Dean’s bed. Sam pinches himself.

“Ow,” Sam mutters and Dean opens his eyes, looking over at Sam bleary eyed.

“Sammy?” Dean yawns and sits up. “Somethin’ wrong?”

They’re in t-shirts and boxers. _None of it happened_ , Sam winces and rubs at his forehead, _but still could happen_. He feels starved and nauseous. Though the nausea passes quickly. _I almost killed Dean. Oh fuck_.

“Sam, talk to me… wait, why’s the clock in the wall?” Dean pulls his bed covers off and swings his legs round. Getting up, Dean wanders over to the clock and peers at its remains and the damaged wall. “Y’know, I was having the weirdest dream too, but this is weirder… like, I’m pretty sure I dreamed this,” Dean starts.

“Look, Dean, I can explain…” _We’re not together anymore. We’re not anything. No… No I can’t… What if he... what if the vision got that wrong?_ The pounding in Sam’s head makes him wince again.

“Sure, I mean, it’s pretty strange just throwing a clock.” Dean walks over to his bed and sits across from Sam. “What the hell?”

 _I shouldn’t hide from Dean anymore. I should just get this out there. Just lay it all out. All of it. Doesn’t matter if he doesn’t like it—I need to know if he’ll accept me for me_. Sam lets out a long breath and rubs at his forehead.

“I threw the clock, Dean. Just not with my hand.”

“What, you kicked it with your foot?”

“No.” Sam gets up and heads over to his pizza box from the evening before. He opens it and pulls out a leftover slice, needing the energy, and starts eating it.

“And now you’re eating pizza in the middle of the night,” Dean states, sounding less sleepy with every passing second. “What’s going on, Sam?”

 _Which to confess to first?_ “I had a vision.”

Dean’s face twitches. “Sam…” There’s no mistaking the old fear in Dean’s eyes and baggage that comes with it. It hurts, but Sam’s use to it.

“My powers came back when Gadreel was healing me,” Sam rattles off, “I’ve been hiding them from you ever since. I got visions, telekinesis and probably other stuff I don’t know about: all going on. I’m not very good at using them right now. But anyway... I just woke up from a vision and I’ll tell you what I saw later. But there’s more…”

“More? What you’re on demon blood again?”

Sam rolls his eyes. He’d been expecting that. “No, I am not on demon blood again. But there is something else.”

“What else?” Dean’s standing close now and Sam’s skin is warming up.

 _Now or never_. Sam kisses Dean and it feels like he’s come home. A second later Dean’s right fist connects with the side of his head and Sam sees stars.

 _I deserved that_. “Fuck,” Sam moans as he falls onto his bed, holding a hand to his smarting face.

“What the hell was that, Sam?” Dean asks angrily.

“That’s the other thing,” Sam answers, wishing he had some ice. “I love you, Dean and I know you love me too.”

“Your vision tell you that?”

Sam huffs out a breath and nods. “Told me, repeatedly. Told me Dad blamed you for me leaving for Stanford. That he thought I knew you desired me and that’s why I ran.”

Even in the low light, Sam can see Dean grow pale. “Fuck.”

“I love you Dean,” Sam repeats.

Dean climbs up beside Sam. “I’m sorry for punching you.” Stretching a hand up to Dean, Sam strokes the side of his brother’s face and stays silent as Dean continues, “And I love you too.”

“Good to know,” Sam mutters and pulls Dean down towards him. Forget ice, Sam wants Dean’s lips on his, even if it’s Dean’s first time.

Brushing his mouth against Dean’s, Sam pushes up and kisses Dean again. _I don’t deserve him_ —but that thought isn’t Sam’s, it’s Dean’s bleeding over to Sam.

Pulling back a little, Sam looks up at Dean. “Don’t think that, Dean.” Sam brings their mouths together again and pulls Dean on top.

_Wait, don’t think what? What! You can hear my thoughts?_

Shut up Dean and make out with me.

Dean bears down on Sam and kisses him hard, slotting himself over Sam’s body. A tang of whiskey washes over Sam’s tongue as Dean kisses his way into Sam’s mouth. They’re both getting hard. It’s not a real cure for the pain Sam’s poor abused skull is feeling from binging on psychic powers and being punched, but having Dean fuck his tongue into Sam’s mouth is a decent enough distraction. Washes away the horror of seeing himself almost kill his brother.

Panting into Dean’s mouth, Sam starts to grind up against his brother. Desperate for friction. Wanting to feel as close to the connection they’d had in his vision. Dean starts pressing down against Sam and moving his hips, grinding against Sam, hands wandering his sides. They messily kiss each other, slotting together just right and Sam holds back. He might be ready for more, but Dean’s been avoiding this for longer than him.

Catching their breath, Sam can’t help smiling up at Dean.

“What? There something on my face?”

“No, just… Maybe I was worried I wasn’t going to see you again.”

Dean kisses the tip of Sam’s nose and for some stupid reason it makes him blush. “It was just a vision, Sam. Just... a vision,” Dean points out, though his voice less certain as he repeats himself. He starts kissing again, hips moving against Sam’s. Making Sam see more than just stars.

***

If Dean felt bad about being weak enough to let a Soul Eater possess him and kick the crap out of Sam? He felt even worse for the black eye he gave Sam back in their motel room at Grand Rapids. But the kiss had been unexpected and Sam had forgiven him pretty quickly. Then Dean had kissed Sam until they were breathless and grinding against each other. It had been a crazy twenty four hours.

They’re on the road to Storm Lake, Iowa, because Sam says there’s a vamp case there. And Sam had also added he knew what they needed to do to take care of the vamp before they left the motel in Grand Rapids. No way Dean expects all their cases to be this easy with Sam being open about his powers, but Dean’s happy to chase an easy win for once. Though Dean think it’s strange how everything feels like a case of prolonged déjà vu.

Dean’s tapping along to AC/DC, feeling happier than he has in months. The weather’s good and Sam’s the least tense he’s been since they found out about Lucifer. Okay, so Dean’s feeling a little pissed that Sam kept his shit hidden for as long as he has, but they have a fighting chance now. What Sam saw gives them an edge that they didn’t have before. Though he kinda wishes Sam would still try and destroy Lucifer, _because screw that dick_.

“I think Chuck might be God,” Sam says all of a sudden, breaking his silence of the past hour.

Going over what Sam had told him of his vision, Dean nods to himself and indicates to turn off the highway and stop at a gas station. “Would explain him suddenly showing up like he did. Sounds like something God would do. Leave us alone until the last possible moment. And then: we’re in a plane. Or Cas is brought back from the dead. Or whatever.”

“I don’t want to wait for all hell to break loose before Chuck shows up. Sure, it was a vision, but I don’t want us to end up in that situation, okay? It wasn’t particularly pleasant being full of grace and… and you did ask me to go ahead and end Amara even though I would have probably killed you.”

Dean pulls up beside a pump and kills the engine. He glances at the gas pump and tries to come up with something he can say to that. The concern in Sam’s voice can’t be ignored and Dean isn’t exactly keen on the idea that a version of himself in the future asked Sam to sacrifice him. “We’re not gonna go down that path. We know what to do to avoid that shitstorm and never get there in the first place.”

“Do we?” Sam gives Dean a sorrowful look and Dean would give anything not to be facing Sam’s puppy eyes right now.

“You said it yourself, or Chuck did: we write the story.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds so simple. We just gotta not mess up and then we have a chance.”

Leaning across to Sam, taking his face in his hand, Dean presses their mouths together. The kiss promises that they’ll find a way out of this mess. Letting go, Dean sits back against the seat and licks his lips. “It’s simple, we work cases and we find Chuck.”

“That simple, huh?” Sam leans against the seat, hair falling back. He looks tired and adorable, even with his bruised face. _And I am never going to be able to say sorry enough times, am I_ , Dean decides while pursing his lips.

Somewhere, John’s voice is trying to tell Dean that he is very wrong to be feeling what he is. But Dean’s not listening as he admires Sam, looks at him like he hasn’t allowed himself in so long, drinking in the sight of him. “It is. So let’s get some gas and go behead a vampire, then look for God and stop the apocalypse.”

“Just, can I not get shot by a werewolf? I’d really like to avoid that mess.”

“We’ll work on that.”

“Okay then: let’s find Chuck.”

And they did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> A sequel is in the works, and will be dependent, partially, on main plot events in season 12. If you want to know when the sequel starts posting, I suggest subscribing to the [series that this fic is part 1 of](http://archiveofourown.org/series/580753).
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/). I'm also on LiveJournal at [hit_the_books](http://hit-the-books.livejournal.com/) (though I don't really post on there). Chat with me on Twitter [@dreamsftbunker](https://twitter.com/dreamsftbunker).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for 'You always had it in you'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236300) by [stormbrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbrite/pseuds/stormbrite)




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